FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,  D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


Division         *SOB> 
Section  l&)  ^8^ 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/twilightOOmcke 


y 


TWILIGHT  MlUfWe^3 


%\\%x  || u e m ^+ 


y 

BY  HARRIET  B.  M^KEEVER. 


Words  we  write  now,  make  their  iinpr- S3 

On  some  soul,  for  good  or  ill ; 
Whispered  on  the  air,  though  vi*=- 

Tears  may  pass,  they're  present  still 
T.ike  to  words  by  diamonds  graven. 

Never  more  to  be  effaced. 
They  will  follow  us  to  Heaven  ; 

•  3  records  find  their  place. - 


PHILADELPHIA: 

WILLIS  P.  HAZARD,  No.  724  CHESTNUT  ST, 

1857. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1857, 

BY  HARRIET  B.  McKEEVER, 

In  the  District  Court,  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


ROBB,   TILE    &    U'EIROT,  PR3. 


DEDICATION. 


TO  MY   PUPILS. 


To  pupils  well  beloved, 

Who  thro'  many  passing  years, 
Have  often  cheered  my  labors, 

And  sometimes  caused  my  tears ; 
Who  have  always  been  remembered 

With  affection  warm  and  true, 
By  their  friend  of  early  childhood, 

Who  would  guide  them  safely  through 

The  traps  which  round  their  footsteps, 

Lie  hidden  to  ensnare 
Their  youth,  so  full  of  impulse, 

Meeting  them  everywhere. 
I  see  their  smiling  faces 

Still  beaming  as  of  yore, 
And  think  of  merry  voices, 

Which  I  shall  hear  no  more. 

From  many  happy  hearth-stones, 

Their  faces  on  me  gleam, 
Where  as  heads  of  loving  households, 

Their  gentle  virtues  beam. 


iv  Dedication. 

And  some  from  sacred  pulpits 
Are  standing  up  for  God, 

With  holy  fervor  telling 

Of  salvation  bought  with  blood. 

And  one  'mid  heathen  blindness, 

With  a  high  and  holy  aim, 
Is  o'er  the  darkness  shedding 

The  light  of  Jesus'  name  : 
And  some  beyond  the  river, 

Called  in  early  youth  to  cross, 
Who  have  passed  in  triumph  over, 

While  leaning  on  the  cross. 

To  all  so  fondly  cherished, 

I  dedicate  these  lines  ; 
For  they  are  oft  remember' d 

In  my  quiet,  musing  times. 
May  their  path  still  shine  more  brightly, 

As  dawns  the  perfect  day  : 
May  they  reach  the  rest  eternal, 

In  the  land  so  far  away. 

And  all  she  asks  now  greeting, 

At  her  youthful  pupil's  hands, 
Is  a  gentle,  kind  remembrance, 

When  her  name  before  them  stands, 
As  the  unpretending  writer 

Of  these  lines  so  feebly  traced  : 
In  each  tender  creature's  bosom, 

She  would  seek  a  favored  place. 

TIIE    AUTHORESS. 


PREFACE. 


It  is  in  compliance  with  a  special  request,  that  I  introduce 
to  the  public  this  little  volume  of  poems. 

They  are  not  the  labored  product  of  anxious  days  and  sleep- 
less nights,  toiliug  after  a  poetic  thought,  and  busy  in  dressing 
it  up  in  fitting  garb;  they  are  the  effusions,  or  rather  the  jets 
of  a  mind  full  of  emotion,  glowing  with  piety,  and  moulded  by 
culture,  thrown  off  in  the  moments  of  poetic  fervor,  more  as 
the  unburdening  of  a  teeming  heart,  than  as  the  studied  lines 
of  one  seeking  for  high  artistic  excellence. 

Many  of  these  pieces  are  graceful  in  their  style,  chaste  in 
their  imagery,  and  are  arranged  with  much  rythmic  harmony ; 
there  is  about  them  no  straining  after  effect,  no  stilted  words, 
no  eccentric  thought. 

The  authoress  has  spoken  what  she  has  felt;  but  she  has 
spoken  it  in  mellifluous  words,  and  breathed  them  to  the  har- 
mony of  numbers. 

Each  piece  is.  the  vehicle  of  a  religious  sentiment,  and  thus 
many  holy  thoughts  are  presented  to  our  minds,  well  fitted  to 
1* 


vi  Preface. 

arrest  attention  and  secure  remembrance;  hence  each  little 
poem,  like  a  painted  panel  of  glass  in  the  oriel  window  of  some 
grand  cathedral,  while  it  catches  the  light  of  heaven,  transmits 
it  into  our  minds,  tinted  with  the  hues,  and  marked  with  the 
limning  of  her  poetic  but  chastened  fancy. 

The  excellent  authoress  comes  before  a  discerning  and  criti- 
cal public,  with  much  diffidence.  Though  many  of  her  pieces 
have  been  printed  from  time  to  time,  in  several  of  the  periodi- 
cals of  the  day,  yet  to  come  out  for  the  first  time,  as  the 
authoress  of  a  book  of  poems,  and  encounter  the  criticisms 
which  assail  all  candidates  for  literary  favor,  is  an  effort  which 
may  well  produce  trembling  and  alarm. 

There  are  in  this  little  volume,  poems  of  varying  metres,  and 
diverse  sentiments,  suited  to  all  Christian  tastes,  and  social 
conditions. 

The  mother  can  find  here  sweet  songs  to  sing  to  the  child 
upon  her  knee ;  the  child  can  meet  here  with  a  beautiful  hymn, 
which  it  can  easily  learn  and  prettily  repeat;  the  bereaved 
heart  can  read  stanzas  that  shall  impart  solace  to  the  mourn- 
ing spirit ;  the  devout  soul  can  here  meet  with  aspirations,  that 
shall  wing  it  upward  with  a  higher  and  steadier  flight ;  and 
the  careless  can  here  listen,  to  the  trumpet  calls  to  truth  and 
duty. 

The  inquirer  can  here  obtain,  in  metrical  strains,  a  know- 
ledge of  salvation ;  the  aged  Christian  has  here  put  into  his 
mouth,  an  evening  hymn,  which  he  can  chant  in  solemn  sweet- 
ness, ere  he  lies  down  to  the  rest  of  the  silent  grave,  in  the 
hope  that  he  shall  wake  in  heaven. 


Preface.  vii 

It  has  words  of  comfort,  of  joy,  of  warning  and  exhortation, 
of  truth  and  of  love  for  all  j  and  no  one  can  attentively  peruse 
these  pages,  without  admiring  the  glow  of  piety  which  pervades 
them,  and  the  earnest,  single-eyed  zeal,  which  constrains  her, 
by  her  pen,  to  glorify  Him  who  is  "  the  chiefest  among  ten 
thousands,  and  altogether  lovely." 

Wm.  Bacon  Stevens. 

Philada.,  March  18th,  1857. 


CONTENTS. 


twilight  musings  at  st.  andrew's, 

three  hundred  years  ago,  . 

a  christmas  carol, 

in  memory  op  mary  eldridge, 

on  the  death  of  the  rev.  i.  a.  clark,  d. 

the  two  coronations, 

wasted  hours,  . 

i'll  wake  again, 

there's  music  every  where 

a  plea  for  the  sailor, 

TO    MARY,   . 

POOR   LITTLE    NELL, 

SOWING    AND    REAPING, 

TO    MAGGIE, 

CHILDHOOD, 

THE    VISIT    OF    THE    DOVE, 

A    HUSBAND'S    CRY   OF    ANGUISn 

GOOD-NIGHT,      . 

THE    NAME    OF   JESUS, 

BREATHINGS    AFTER    CHRIST, 

THE    TWO    MOUNTAINS, 

TO   OUR    PASTOR, 

TO    A   BELOVED    PUPIL, 

FOR    BEREAVED    PARENTS, 

ST.    STEPHEN'S    BELLS, 

THE    STRICKEN    EXILE,  . 

CONJUGAL    AFFECTION, 


PAGE 
13 
2( 
23 

2G 
29 
31 
35 
3G 
40 
43 
45 
4G 
48 
51 
52 
53 
56 
58 
59 
G2 
64 
GG 
C8 
G9 
72 
12 


Contents. 


"MOTHER,  IS    GOD    DEAD?" 

THE  OTHER  SIDE,  ..... 

THE  LAST  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD, 

BRING  TEARS,     ..... 

THE    CLOSING   YEAR,        .... 

THE    MORAVIAN    REQUIEM,  .... 

TO    A    FRIEND    ON    CHRISTMAS    DAY, 

THE    CONVICT'S    CELL,  .... 

MEMORY'S    TRIBUTE,        .... 

THE    PASTOR'S    CROWN,         .... 

MY    FAVORITE    GARDEN, 

TRUE    FREEDOM,       ..... 

I   AM   WEARY,    ..... 

THE    CHRISTIAN    GRACES    PERSONIFIED, 

TO    THE    REVEREND    T.    M.    CLARK, 

THE    BAPTISM   OF    AN    INFANT, 

WARNINGS    FOR   THE    TIMES, 

THE    UNION,    1830,  .... 

THE    BIRD,   A   TEACHER, 

THOUGHTS    ON    THE    GENERAL    CONVENTION    OF    1856, 

THE    PASTOR'S    TABLETS, 

DEDICATION    OF    THE    PASTOR'S    STUDY, 

LITTLE    CHARLOTTE,        .... 

TO    MY   BROTHER   IN    HEAVEN, 

FAREWELL    TO    THE    LEHIGH,       . 

TO    ELIZA   S ,    WHEN    ABSENT    FROM    HER    PARENTS 

CHRISTMAS    CAROL,  .... 

ORAMUS,      ...... 

WHAT    IS    THE    CHURCH?  .  <•    , 

COMMUNION,  ..... 

THE    VEILED   PICTURE,  .... 

AIRY    CLOUDS,  ..... 

TO    THE    SKYLARK,  .... 

CHRISTMAS   BELLS,  .... 

WOMAN'S   RIGHTS,  .... 

GOD'S    PROVIDENCE,  .... 

THE    CONVENT   OF   VALETTA,       . 


Contents. 


FAMILY    SCENE    FROM    REAL    LIFE,  . 

THE    LOSS    OF    THE    ARCTIC, 

WHITE    SLAVES   ABROAD,      . 

THOUGHTS    FOR    THE    LIVING,      . 

SPIRIT    CHIMES,        .... 

THE    POWER    OF    SIN,       .  ... 

THE    WAIL    OF    THE    CROSS, 

THE    BENEDICTION, 

SABBATH    HYMN,       .... 

TRUST    IN    GOD, 

CHRISTIAN    DEATH, 

THE    VOICE    OF    SPRING, 

TO   MY   MOTHER,       .... 

YOUNG  MAN,  I  SAY  UNTO  THEE,  ARISE, 

THE  UNFORTUNATE, 

GREETINGS  TO  ABSENT  ONES,  . 

CHRISTMAS  GREETINGS, 

TO  MY  LITTLE  FRIENDS, 

LITTLE  AMY,      .... 

PRIDE    REBUKED, 

BOYS,    BEWARE    OF    SERPENTS, 

A   father's  LESSON,    . 

WHAT    THE    WIND    SAYS, 

LITTLE    MARY,  .... 

ILLUSTRATIONS    OF    THE    LORD'S    PRAYER,     . 

THE    LITTLE    VOYAGERS, 

FEMALE    IMPIETY,     . 

LINDA    GREY,       . 

IN    MEMORY    OF    SUSAN    ALLIBONE,     . 

CHILDISH    FAITH, 

LITTLE    MABEL, 

UNANSWERED    PRAYERS, 

THE    POWER    OF    AN    INFANT'S    PRAYER, 

"FOR    THINE    IS    THE    KINGDOM," 

"AMEN,"   .... 
MY  DARLING  RETTA,   . 
THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD, 


Xll 


C ONTENTS 


COME,    LET    FS    GO    TO   JESUS, 

COME,    LET  US    GO   TO    HEAVEN, 

SABBATH    HYMN, 

'TIS    SABBATH    MORN, 

THE    JUDGMENT, 

WILL    YOU    GO?        . 

HYMN,  . 

INFANT    HYMN, 

LET    US    LOYE, . 

INFANT    HYMN, 

THE    STORY   OF   JESUS, 

COME,    COME    AWAY, 

HE    LOOKS    AT    ME, 

HYMN, 

GOD    IS    GREAT, 

u  THOU,    GOD,    SEEST    ME," 

"THERE    IS    A    GOD,"      . 

INFANT   PRAISE,       . 

THE    HAPPY    CHILD, 

"WE    MUST   REPENT," 

FLY   FROM   SIN, 

"OH,    WHERE,    TELL    ME    WHERE," 

LIVE    IN    PEACE, 

LITTLE    CHILDREN,    COME    TO    ME 


p.u;e 
241 
242 
243 
243 
244 
245 
247 
248 
249 
250 
251 
253 
254 
255 
256 
256 
257 
258 
259 
259 
260 
261 
262 
263 


TWILIGHT  MUSINGS, 

AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


SMigjft  Stosings  at  St.  %ritotks. 

In  the  soft  silence  of  the  twilight  hour, 

When  memory  wakes  with  all  her  magic  pow'r, 

The  visions  of  the  past ;  I  stand  alone 

'Mid  these  blest  walls,  and  muse  on  days  now  gone. 

Now,  forms  of  the  departed  gather  round  : 
With  silent  step  they  enter,  and  no  sound 
Save  the  sad  strains  of  mem'ry's  harp,  I  hear, 
Wailing  low  requiems,  to  my  fancy's  ear. 

The  evening  shadows  darken  all  around; 
My  beating  heart  feels,  this  is  holy  ground ; 
My  inmost  spirit  breathes  in  pensive  sighs, 
While  visions  of  the  lost  ones,  meet  mine  eyes. 

They  move  along  the  dim,  mysterious  aisle ; 
I  seem  to  hear  their  step,  and  see  their  smile  : 
For  why  should  spirits  from  the  world  above, 
E'er  wear  a  look  of  aught,  but  joy  and  love  ? 
2 


14  Twilight  Musings. 

Within  the  chancel  rails,  I  see  them  glide, 
And  in  that  sacred  spot,  sit  side  by  side ; 
Then  with  a  solemn  step,  they  mount  the  place 
Where  they  so  oft  have  told  of  God's  rich  grace. 

A  lofty  brow,  serene,  with  scattered  hair,* 
Such  as  in  life,  our  pastor  used  to  wear ; 
The  feeble  step,  the  pallid,  hollow  cheek, 
The  voice  so  clear  and  heav'nly,  seemed  to  speak. 

The  uplifted  finger,  and  the  solemn  air, 

The  countenance,  all  hallowed  o'er  with  prayer, 

The  holy  aspect,  and  the  pale  gray  eye, 

All  tell  my  trembling  heart,  who  hovers  nigh. 

And  near  him,  stands  a  form  of  holy  mien  :f 
Like  to  our  second  guide,  the  vision  seems : 
He  was  a  man  of  prayer,  by  sorrow  bowed, 
Led  through  affliction's  furnace,  home  to  God. 

His  eye  is  kind,  as  full  of  Christian  love, 

As  when  among  his  flock,  he  gently  moved, 

His  gaze  is  upward,  and  he  seems  to  wear 

The  look,  which  speechless  utters,  "  Live  by  prayer  !" 

I  hear  a  message  from  the  man  of  God,* 
"  When  you  forget  to  pray,  write  Ichabod," 
For  in  united  prayer,  your  safety  lies : 
Forsake  the  hallowed  place,  your  graces  die. 

Who  that  remembers  the  sweet  evening  hour, 
When  oft  we  met,  to  seek  the  Spirit's  power, 

*  Rev.  Dr.  Bedell.  f  Rev.  John  A.  Clark. 


Twilight  Musings.  15 

Can  e'er  forget  those  days,  when  gathered  there, 
Oft  would  he  meet  his  children  thus,  in  prayer  ? 

The  meek  and  holy  aspect,  the  closed  eyes, 

The  sweet  and  plaintive  hymn,  before  me  rise : 

E'en  when  too  feeble  many  words  to  say, 

How  blest !  to  hear  him  whisper :  "  Brethren  pray." 

These  were  his  holy  teachings,  year  by  year : 
The  very  air  seemed  redolent  with  prayer : 
These  were  the  sacred,  sympathetic  ties, 
Which  bound  us  all,  as  pilgrims  to  the  skies. 

Beloved  St.  Andrews  !  shall  it  e'er  be  said, 
Her  gold  is  dim,  her  former  fervor  fled  ? 
Should  she  forget  to  pray,  it  must  be  told, 
Her  glory  has  departed,  and  her  love  is  cold. 

Thrice  have  we  been  bereaved,  yet  He  who  stands 
Amidst  the  seven  lamps,  and  in  His  hand 
Holds  fast  the  seven  stars,  directing  all 
In  Heav'n  above,  or  on  this  earthly  ball, — 

He  has  been  with  us,  earnest  prayer  to  hear; 
And  tho'  our  hearts  have  often  sunk  with  fear, 
Yet  none  but  faithful  guides,  have  e'er  been  heard 
To  preach  among  us,  aught  but  God's  pure  word. 

Christ  crucified,  the  sinner's  only  hope, 

His  righteousness,  the  one  substantial  prop 

On  which  the  Church  can  rest,  on  this  side  Heav'n, 

Ere  crowns  of  victory,  to  faith  are  given. 


16  Twilight    Musings. 

What  thrilling  scenes  have  'mid  these  walls  transpired 
How  often,  by  the  Spirit's  power  inspired, 
Have  messages  from  Heaven,  here  been  blessed ! 
How  many  here  have  found  the  Spirit's  rest ! 

I  see  around  the  chancel,  hundreds  crowd, 
Ready  to  dedicate  their  all  to  God  : 
The  young,  the  old,  the  rich,  the  poor  here  met : 
Alas  !  that  any  should  those  vows  forget. 

Some  sleep  beneath  the  church-yard's  grassy  sod  : 
Their  conflicts  o'er,  they  rest  in  peace  with  God. 
Some  stand  where  Zion's  banners  are  unfurled  : 
Some  few  have  turned  again,  to  this  base  world. 

Some,  in  the  busy  city  may  be  found, 
Some,  by  sweet  rural  scenes  encircled  round, 
Some,  in  the  distant  land  beyond  the  wave : 
All,  all  are  travelling  to  one  home,  the  grave. 

How  many  scenes  pass  swift  before  my  sight ! 
The  church-door  opens,  and  the  flashing  light 
Reveals  a  company,  with  joyous  smile 
Guiding  the  bridal  bands  along  the  aisle. 

Again,  I  see  another  happy  band 
Bringing  their  infant,  with  faith's  trusting  hand 
To  the  dear  Savior's  feet,  that  he  may  bless 
Their  little  one,  in  all  her  helplessness. 

A  few  short  years — the  infant  comes  once  more,* 
Not  with  a  father's  prayers — those  prayers  are  o'er, — 

^Charlotte  Clark. 


Twilight    Musings. 

But  borne  by  youthful  hands,  on  her  low  bier, 
She  rests  in  peace,  while  round  flows  many  a  tear. 

Like  to  the  chrysalis,  she  lies  entombed 
In  her  dark  shell ;  gone  is  her  infant  bloom  : 
The  pale,  white  flowers,  that  lay  upon  her  now, 
Are  not  more  withered  than  her  pallid  brow. 

Like  to  the  chrysalis,  she'll  burst  the  tomb  : 
Then  from  the  dead  she'll  rise  in  beauteous  bloom, 
To  hail  her  ransomed  family  in  Heaven, 
When  to  her  sainted  father  she  is  given. 

Again — I  see  the  portals  op'ning  wide, 
And  weeping  brethren  enter,  side  by  side  : 
With  reverential  hands  they  bear  the  pall, 
And  with  a  solemn  tread  their  footsteps  fall. 

The  deep-toned  organ  wails  in  plaintive  notes, 
The  dark  funereal  folds,  in  sadness  float ; 
The  weeping  multitude,  the  stifled  moan 
All  tell,  that  those  most  honored,  now  are  gone. 

Like  the  tired  bird,  who,  struggling  with  fierce  winds, 
Looks  round  in  vain,  a  resting  place  to  find, 
Until  some  sheltered  spot,  she  glad  descries, 
Then  folds  her  wearied  wings,  and  peaceful  lies, 

So,  early  driv'n  by  life's  tempestuous  storms, 
Which  beat  so  wildly  round  my  youthful  form, 
Wearied  and  worn,  I  sought  a  Savior's  breast, 
And  here,  like  Noah's  dove,  I  found  my  rest. 
2* 


17 


18  Twilight    Musings. 

Ah  !  this  indeed  has  been  the  gate  of  Heaven 
Here  joys  unspeakable  have  oft  been  given : 
Here  Jacob's  ladder,  reaches  to  the  skies, 
And  on  its  steps  invisible,  I  rise. 

Sometimes,  a  thought  of  bliss  so  sweetly  comes, 
Wafted  by  angels,  from  their  heav'nly  home, 
I  almost  hear  the  rustling  of  their  wings, 
As  to  and  fro  they  go,  comfort  to  bring. 

Here,  prayer,  like  to  the  bright  metallic  rod, 
Pointing  still  upward,  to  the  throne  of  God, 
Brings  down  in  safety,  the  electric  fire, 
Which  else  might  blast,  like  God's  almighty  ire. 

So  each  believer,  like  the  lightning  rod, 
Not  only  points  the  sinner  up  to  God ; 
But  by  his  faith,  wards  off  the  fire  of  wrath, 
And  saves  his  loved  ones  from  eternal  death. 

Here  is  the  ladder :  let  no  hand  be  found 
By  failing  faith,  to  move  one  slender  round  : 
Here  is  the  rod  electric — there  the  skies : 
Let  us  look  upward — ere  the  blessing  flies. 

O !  that  once  more,  while  yet  the  fire  descends 
Swift  down  the  magic  rod,  like  Jesus'  friends 
May  we  encircled  round,  joined  hand  to  hand, 
Near  to  the  point  of  influence,  ever  stand. 

Then,  when  the  heavenly  flame,  by  prayer  brought  down 
Reaches  one  grasping  hand — swift  every  one 


Twilight    Musings.  19 

By  power  electric,  will  draw  near  the  throne, 
And  we  shall  mourn  no  more,  the  Spirit  flown. 

Thus,  may  we  still  a  living  Church  be  found  : 
Here,  may  the  trumpet  give  a  certain  sound : 
Hence,  may  dark  error  ever  shrink  away : 
Near  to  our  pastor,  may  the  Spirit  stay. 

"When  faints  his  feeble  faith,  when  hang  his  hands, 
Like  Hur  and  Aaron,  may  his  people  stand, 
Near  on  the  arms  of  faith,  to  bear  him  up, 
Filling  his  anxious  heart  with  Christian  hope. 

In  this  blest  truth,  Oh  !  may  he  comfort  find, 
That  Christ  can  turn  the  water  into  wine ; 
May  he  obedient,  fill  up  to  the  brim 
The  empty  vessels — looking  still  to  Him, 

To  change  the  water  into  rosy  red, — 
To  multiply  the  scattered  loaves  of  bread, 
Till  hungry  thousands,  by  his  power  are  fed  : — 
Through  the  few  mystic  words,  by  Jesus  said. 

These  walls  will  perish — these  material  stones 
"Will  crumble  into  dust,  as  time  rolls  on. 
Then,  when  this  earthly  temple  shall  decay, 
Naught  that  is  heav'nly,  e'er  shall  pass  away. 

Out  of  these  ruins,  shall  a  temple  rise, 
Built  all  of  lively  stones,  meet  for  the  skies; 
With  Jesus  for  the  chief,  the  corner-stone, 
And  grace,  the  crowning,  topmost,  glorious  one. 


20  Twilight    Musings. 


©|rtt  jjuitortb  gears  %$v. 

ON  THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF  TIIE  BISHOP  WHITE  PRAYER  BOOK  SOCIETY,  CELE- 
BRATING, AT  THE  SAME  TIME,  THE  THREE  HUNDREDTH  ANNIVERSARY  OF 
THE  PRAYER  BOOK. 

A  band  of  favored  Christians, 

We  meet  around  the  throne ; 
With  thankful  exultations 

That  Providence  to  own, 
Which  moved  our  ancient  fathers, 

Their  zeal  for  G-od  to  show, 
By  framing  for  us,  holy  prayers, 

Three  hundred  years  ago. 

For  on  this  holy  festival, 

On  England's  happy  shore, 
The  ancient  Church,  but  just  escaped 

From  error's  crushing  power, 
Met  on  the  morn  of  Whitsuntide, 

Where  Christians  love  to  go, 
And  first  set  forth,  our  hallowed  forms, 

Three  hundred  yeara  ago. 

What  tho'  the  book  is  ancient, 

What  tho'  the  sacred  words, 
Are  still  the  sounds  familiar, 

Our  fathers  gladly  heard. 
Still  let  us  love  our  prayer-book, 

And  for  it  reverence  show, 
Tho'  it  was  framed  by  mortal  men, 

Three  hundred  years  ago. 


Twilight    Musings.  21 

Should  we  not  love  our  parents  ? 

And  watch  with  earnest  eye 
When  silver  hairs,  and  quivering  voice, 

"Whispers,  "  Old  age  draws  nigh  !" 
We  love  the  best  a  long-tried  friend, 

And  can  we  ever  know 
A  guide  more  true,  than  Heaven  sent, 

Three  hundred  years  ago  ! 

The  oak  amid  the  forest, 

The  eagle  'mong  the  birds, 
Old  Ocean  'mid  the  waters, 

In  every  heart  is  heard 
To  stir  the  love  of  ancient  things  : — 

Then  let  our  bosoms  glow 
With  joy,  while  memory  points  us  back 

Three  hundred  years  ago. 

Thy  chants  have  filled  the  fretted  vaults, 

Of  old  cathedral  domes ; 
Thy  prayers  have  whispered  peace  and  love, 

'Mid  England's  cottage  homes. 
Thy  strains  have  dwelt  on  martyr's  lips, 

When  called  by  God  to  go 
Thro'  fiery  flames,  to  heav'nly  crowns, 

Three  hundred  years  ago. 

We  hear  thy  words  in  accents  kind, 

Whispering,  "let  infants  come," 
And  loving  still,  "  Defend  0  Lord," 

And  bring  thy  children  home. 
"  Remember  me,"  Oh  !  who  can  tell 

Or  who  the  pow'r  can  show 


22  Twilight    Musings. 

Of  those  blest  words  to  strengthen  faith, 
Three  hundred  years  ago. 

Thy  words  declare,  the  righteous  dead, 

Alone  are  truly  blest, 
When  with  the  spirits  of  the  just, 

They  with  the  Savior  rest. 
"  Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust  \" 

How  speedily  we  go 
To  join  the  dead,  who  heard  these  words 

Three  hundred  years  ago. 

The  soaring  bird,  with  pinions  drooped, 

Near  earth  must  ever  stay, 
Until  the  air,  struck  by  his  wing 

Bears  her  to  Heaven  away. 
Just  so,  the  weak  and  helpless  soul 

Oft  feels  her  faith  so  low, 
Till  aided  by  the  words  which  glowed, 

Three  hundred  years  ago. 

Thus,  penitence  for  countless  sins, 

Bows  down  the  drooping  wing  : — 
When  faith  comes  in,  to  aid  her  flight 

She  soars  away  and  sings  : 
Sings  with  the  raptured  hosts  of  Heav'n, 

And  with  the  saints  below, 
Praises  to  God,  for  aid  vouchsafed, 

Three  hundred  years  ago. 

We  would  not  call  thee  faultless, 

For  uninspired  men 
Composed  thy  words  :  such  have  done  wrong, 

And  may  do  so  again. 


Twilight    Musings.  23 

But  we  would  love  the  piety, 

Which  on  thy  pages  glow, 
Which  fired  the  souls  of  those  who  lived 

Three  hundred  years  ago. 

Who  dare  complain  of  formal  prayers  ? 

'Tis  that  our  spirit's  tone, 
Is  all  below  thy  heav'nly  strains, 

And  we  are  cold  alone. 
Could  we  but  feel  the  holy  joys, 

Which  from  thy  teachings  flow, 
Then  should  we  truly  bless  this  day, 

Three  hundred  years  ago. 


%  Cjmsfimts  Carol. 

"peace  be  to  this  house." 

The  sound  of  angel  voices 

From  old  Judea's  plains, 
Wakes  up  within  my  bosom, 

A  wish  to  join  the  strains, 
Which  sang  of  peace  from  Heaven, 

Of  God,  as  reconciled, 
Of  grace,  to  change  a  rebel, 

Into  a  loving  child. 

While  soft  these  notes  are  stealing, 
Throughout  my  grateful  heart, 


Twilight    Musings. 

How  can  I  help  desiring, 
That  all  should  share  a  part. 

Then,  while  rny  soul  is  swelling 
With  love,  'tis  raised  in  prayer, 

That  where  my  friends  are  dwelling, 
God's  peace  may  hover  there% 

Thus  while  I  chant  my  carol, 

Of  simple,  heartfelt  song, 
The  fireside  of  my  Pastor, 

Stands  out  amid  the  throng. 
Here,  in  a  land  of  strangers, 

Perhaps  his  heart  may  miss 
The  gush  of  kindly  greeting, 

In  seasons  such  as  this. 

I've  thought  how  small  the  tribute  : 

And  yet  by  little  things, 
Small  in  themselves,  but  blest  by  God, 

Comfort  and  peace,  He  brings. 
One  ray  of  light  may  gladden 

The  wand'rer  'mid  the  night, 
One  draught  of  cooling  water, 

Put  burning  thirst  to  flight. 

A  bird,  upon  the  rising  bough, 

Borne  upward  by  the  gale, 
Still  swelling  out  loud  strains  of  joy, 

When  blasts  his  branch  assail, 
May  to  the  Christian,  tell  a  tale 

Of  hope,  in  joy's  bright  day, 
Of  cheerful  trust  and  confidence, 

When  joy  has  passed  away. 


Twilight    Musings.  25 

One  flower  'mid  the  wilderness, 

May  cheer  the  wand'rer's  heart; 
If  it  but  mind  him  of  his  home, 

' Twill  blessedness  impart. 
I'd  be  the  little  ray  of  light, 

Or  lowly  flower,  or  bird, 
Or  like  the  humblest  means,  through  which 

Kind  accents  may  be  heard. 

Then,  peace  be  to  thy  household, 

Peace  dwell  within  thy  breast ; 
May  the  blest  dove  of  heav'nly  birth, 

There,  safely,  sweetly  rest. 
Peace  to  thy  loved  companion, 

Thro*  life's  tempestuous  way, 
And  near  thy  cherished  daughter, 

May  peace  forever  stay. 

O  !  may  the  Prince  of  Peace  be  there, 

A  welcome,  honored  guest : 
May  He  sit  with  thee  at  table, 

May  He  guard  thy  nightly  rest'; 
Make  one  around  thy  fireside, 

Thus,  giving  holy  zest 
To  all  the  purest  joys  of  life, 

Making  thee  truly  blest. 

Thus  sanctifying  every  joy, 

And  sweetening  every  care, 
Thou'lt  prove  each  day,  how  blest  are  they, 

Who  Jesus'  friendship  share. 
Peace  to  the  flock  thou  tendest, 

Such  as  the  Savior  gives 
3 


26  Twilight    Musing 

To  his  beloved,  when  he  sees 
Their  Christian  graces  live. 

Thus  ends  my  Christmas  carol ; 

And  the  wish  of  ev'ry  line 
Is,  thine  be  like  the  growing  light 

More  brightly  still  to  shine, 
Until  it  reach  the  perfect  day; 

Then  after  life's  decline, 
In  the  blest  world  beyond  the  grave, 

Peace  be  to  thee,  and  thine. 


$b  HJtmorg  of  HJarg  (Blkibgt. 

"we  all  do  fade  as  a  leap." 

Once  more  we  met  together, 

And  lip  to  lip  was  pressed ; 
And  my  grateful  bosom  gladly  sprang, 

Each  youthful  brow  to  bless. 
Upon  the  well-known  threshold 

I  stood,  with  joy  to  greet 
The  smiling  group,  happy  once  more 

Each  other  thus  to  meet. 


I  gazed  around  delighted, 

As  each  familiar  face, 
With  beaming  eye,  and  outstretched  hand, 

Met  in  a  glad  embrace. 


.   Twilight    Musings.  27 

The  summer  sports  are  past  and  gone, 

And  duty  calls  us  home  : 
How  many  now,  with  cheerful  step, 

To  meet  my  welcome,  come  ! 

But  one  short  week  has  vanished, 

And  in  our  wonted  place 
We  met  once  more,  but  ah  !  how  changed 

Is  each  beloved  face. 
Sadness  now  rests  upon  each  brow, 

And  silence  reigns  around  : 
Tears  chase  each  other  down  the  cheek, 

And  quench  each  mirthful  sound. 

We  gaze  around  in  sorrow, 

Upon  a  vacant  chair ; 
And  sadly  whisper,  where  is  she  ? 

Who  once  was  seated  there. 
Where  is  the  sunbeam  of  our  flock  ? 

Where  is  the  sparkling  eye  ? 
The  ringing  laugh,  the  tripping  step, 

Which  told  us,  she  was  nigh. 

Hushed  is  that  voice  of  gladness, 

Quenched  is  that  brilliant  eye, 
How  could  we  think,  that  one  so  young, 

In  death  so  soon  should  lie  ? 
One  day,  a  merry  sprightly  child, 

With  us  joined  hand  in  hand ; 
The  next,  before  the  throne  of  God, 

One  of  the  spirit  band. 


Twilight    Musings.     . 

"We  miss  thee,  dearest  Mary, 

Upon  the  school-room  stair, 
"We  miss  thee,  'mid  our  youthful  sports : 

"We  miss  thee,  every  where. 
"When  others  smile,  the  thought  will  come 

Of  the  cold  and  silent  tomb, 
"Where  sleeps  thy  once  beloved  form, 

In  darkness,  and  in  gloom. 

So  sudden  was  the  summons, 

"Which  called  thy  soul  away : — 
O !  may  we  heed  the  solemn  tones, 

"Which  bid  us,  watch  and  pray. 
Ah  !  could  we  hear  thy  spirit's  voice, 

Would  it  not  kindly  say  ? 
u  Companions  of  my  earthly  days, 

Haste  !  haste  from  sin  away. 

tt  Your  days  may  be  as  fleeting, 

Your  time  as  fast  may  fly : 
Ah !  let  the  voice  from  Mary's  grave, 

"Whisper,  you  too  may  die. 
Fly,  while  the  God  of  mercy  calls, 

To  the  Redeemer's  breast ; 
Then,  whether  long  or  short  your  days, 

In  Heaven,  your  souls  will  rest." 


Twilight    Musings.  29 


ti  %  §t4  of  %  p.  I.  J.  Clark,  g.§. 

REQUIESCAT  IN  PACE. 

Rest  in  peace !  thy  work  is  done, — 

All  thy  conflicts,  all  thy  cares  : 
Naught  can  reach  thee,  blessed  one  ! 

Naught  to  grieve,  can  touch  thee  there. 
Years  of  weakness,  days  of  pain, 

Long  have  been  thy  weary  lot; 
They  shall  ne'er  distress  again, 

Sighs  in  Heaven,  whisper  not. 

Rest  in  peace  !  we  lay  thee  down, 

Near  the  consecrated  spot, 
Where  thy  gospel-trump  was  blown, 

"With  a  faith,  that  faltered  not. 
Where  thy  spirit  joyed  to  be, 

There  we  leave  thy  hallowed  dust, 
Till  the  morn  of  victory, — 

Till  the  triumph  of  the  just. 

Rest  in  peace  !  thro'  many  woes, 

Thou  hast  gained  thy  blest  abode, 
Safe  at  last  from  mortal  foes, 

In  the  bosom  of  thy  God. 
We  would  follow  in  the  way 

Which  on  earth  thou  lov'dst  to  tread, — 
Where  with  meekness,  day  by  day 

Thou  did'st  follow  Christ,  thy  head. 

Rest  in  peace  !  yet  mem'ry  oft 
Must  those  solemn  scenes  recall, 
3* 


30  Twilight    Musings. 

Whispering  still  in  accents  soft, 
Heavenly  wisdom's  holy  call. 

Prayers  and  tears  in  secret  shed, 
Solemn  admonitions  given — 

From  those  lips,  now  cold  and  dead, 
Wooing  us  from  earth  to  Heaven. 

Rest  in  peace  !  and  yet,  if  ever 

Ransomed  spirits  of  the  sky 
Now  'mid  scenes  of  earth  can  hover, 

Thine,  blest  shade  !  may  linger  nigh. 
Yet  sweet  hours  of  saints'  communion, 

We  would  with  the  loved  enjoy; 
Till  the  day  of  full  reunion, 

'Mid  the  joys  which  never  cloy. 

Rest  in  peace — ah !  not  forever 

Will  thy  form  in  darkness  sleep  : 
Jesus  near  thy  tomb  will  ever 

All  thy  dust  in  safety  keep. 
Bright  and  glorious  thou  shalt  rise : — 

Pastor,  friend,  we'd  meet  thee  there, 
In  the  home  beyond  the  skies  : 

All  the  loved  in  Christ,  are  there. 

Rest  in  hope  !  yet  one  farewell, 

To  the  friend  of  many  years  : — 
Thou  hast  gone  with  Christ  to  dwell, 

We  are  in  a  vale  of  tears. 
God  has  healed  thine  every  woe ; 

He  has  bade  thy  labors  cease : 
Once  more  let  us  whisper  low, 

"  Friend  and  Pastor,  rest  in  peace." 


Twiiight    Musings.  31 


fi$*  Cfoff  Coronations. 

There  was  stirring  'mong  the  multitude, . 

At  early  morning  dawn, 
And  prince  and  peasant  hurried  forth, 

By  one  great  current  borne. 
The  glitter  of  earth's  pageantry, 

Just  flitted  by  that  day, 
And  thousands  flocked  to  catch  a  glimpse 

Ere  it  should  pass  away. 

A  nation's  triumphs  rent  the  air, 

And  'mid  the  crowd  were  seen, 
Princes  and  kings  from  distant  lands, 

To  hail  Britannia's  Queen. 
'Mid  the  bright  glare  of  earthly  pomp, 

'Mid  splendor's  dazzling  blaze, 
They  bore  her  young  and  timid  steps, 

To  the  hall  of  ancient  days. 

As  there  she  knelt,  where  the  royal  dead 

Had  bowed  the  suppliant  knee, 
They  placed  a  crown  on  her  youthful  brow,- 

Emblem  of  royalty. 
Mid  music's  strains  of  solemn  sound, 

Inspiring  all  the  scene, 
Loudly  they  hailed  the  trembling  girl, 

As  England's  future  Queen. 

With  raptured  shouts  they  bore  her  on, 
As  they  left  the  Abbey  hall ; 


32  Twilight    Musings. 

With  loyal  prayers  to  bless  their  Queen, 

On  God  they  loudly  called. 
The  pageant  has  passed,  and  the  multitude 

Have  gone  to  their  quiet  homes ; 
Silence  now  rests  'mid  the  sacred  walls, 

And  she,  to  her  conflict  comes. 

She  wears  a  crown ;  'tis  a  sparkling  gem, 

And  dazzling  to  mortal  eyes ; 
So  fair  to  behold,  but  heavy  to  wear, 

'Twill  fill  her  young  heart  with  sighs. 
'Tis  a  weary  load  for  a  woman's  brow, 

Whose  brightest  gems  will  rust ; 
For  the  blooming  queen,  and  her  diadem, 

Must  moulder  in  the  dust. 

The  scene  has  passed,  but  an  hour  will  come, 

More  august  far  than  this ; 
Assembled  shall  be  the  multitude, 

And  angels  shall  leave  their  bliss, 
To  witness  the  earth's  last  spectacle, 

Ere  it  shall  pass  away; 
And  to  hail  with  joyful  shouts,  the  saints' 

Great  coronation-day. 

Who  shall  be  there?  kings,  nobles,  all, — 

The  rich  and  poor  shall  meet; 
They  who  have  reigned,  and  they  who  served, 

Shall  bow  beneath  His  feet. 
Speechless  they  stand,  gone  the  imperial  crowns 

Of  the  proud  monarchs  now; 
Silent  thy  wait  the  coronal's  dread  sign, 

And  filled  with  awe,  they  bow. 


Twilight    Musings.  33 

Who  is  the  Judge  ?  and  who  presents  the  prize  ? 

Who  each  believer  seals  ? 
'Tis  He,  the  brightest  'mong  the  glorious  throng, 

Now  to  the  sight  revealed. 
'Tis  Jesus  !  the  despised  !  the  Nazarene ! 

His  hand  the  crown  shall  give, 
His  voice  pronounce  the  soul-inspiring  words, 

"With  me  forever  live." 

Who  stands  so  meekly  'mong  the  mighty  mass? 

'Tis  one  of  lowly  mien ; 
No  trembling  fears  alarm  his  placid  soul, 

His  brow  is  all  serene. 
He  looks  towards  the  dazzling  great  white  throne, 

With  calm  and  steady  gaze; 
He  sees  in  Him  who  sits  thereon,  a  friend 

Who  saved  him  by  His  grace. 

When  he  passed  among  the  thoughtless  crowd 

On  earth,  he  scarce  was  known, 
But  he  kept  his  eye  on  his  heavenly  crown, 

And  lived  for  Heaven  alone. 
The  books  are  set,  the  Judge  appears, 

The  lowly  one  meets  His  glance ; 
The  mark  on  his  brow  proclaims  his  name, 

He  bids  His  child  advance. 

Apostles,  martyrs,  prophets  are  there 

And  all  th'  angelic  host; 
They  witness  the  triumph  of  humble  faith, 

And  in  Christ  alone,  they  boast. 
The  lowly  one  bends  before  the  throne, 

A  listening  world  attends; 


34  Twilight    Musings. 

The  crown  of  glory  adorns  his  brow, 
And  praises  high  ascend. 

'Tis  a  crown  which  ne'er  shall  know  decay ; 

And  he  who  happy  wears 
This  signet  of  bliss,  shall  find  it  free 

From  earth's  distracting  cares. 
'Twas  purchased  by  a  Savior's  tears, 

And  He  who  freely  gave 
His  life-blood  away,  has  power  to  keep 

The  crown  of  the  victor  safe. 

There  were  tremblers  'mong  that  multitude, 

When  heirs  of  glory  crowned 
By  Jesus'  hands,  with  fadeless  wreaths 

Their  honored  temples  bound. 
Who,  while  the  raptured  anthems  rolled 

Among  the  hosts  above, 
Cast  down  their  crowns  before  His  feet, 

Who  saved  them  by  His  love. 

Amazement  seizes  the  trembling  souls 

Of  sinners,  while  they  gaze 
On  the  victors'  palms,  and  their  robes  of  white, 

Beaming  with  glorious  rays. 
With  blissful  strains  of  heavenly  joy, 

Earth's  sorrows  at  an  end; 
Triumphant  the  conquerors  swell  the  song, 

And  swift  to  glory  ascend. 

Heaven  opening  wide  her  pearly  gates, 
Receives  the  wanderers  home ; 


Twilight    Musings.  35 

But  the  crowns  they  wear,  no  conflict  bring, 

To  rest,  to  joy  they  come. 
To  rest  them  safe,  'mid  the  bowers  of  bliss, 

To  joy  in  the  Savior's  love, 
To  bask  in  His  smile  is  the  endless  lot, 

Of  the  victors  crowned  above. 


SStasfcb  fours. 

"O,   GIVE   ME   BACK   MY  FLOWERS." 

A  merry  little  maiden 

Is  sitting  by  the  stream, 
Her  lap  with  flowers  laden, 

Fit  emblems  there  they  seem 
Of  her,  whose  sportive  fingers 

Are  playing  with  their  sweets, 
While  yet  soft  twilight  lingers, 

And  day-light  fast  retreats. 

Her  features  sweetly  smiling, 
As  on  the  bank  she  lay, 

The  lazy  hours  beguiling, 
She  threw  her  flowers  away. 

"With  childish  joy  she  saw  them 
Go  floating  down  the  tide, 

But  speedily  they  vanished, 
•  When  suddenly  she  sighed : 


36  Twilight    Musings. 

"  0,  give  me  back  my  flowers  V 

She  calls,  but  none  return. 
Thus  speed  our  fleeting  hours, 

And  we  in  vain  will  mourn 
For  moments  madly  scattered, 

With  reckless  hands  so  wide ; 
Just  like  these  flowers,  all  shattered, 

They  vanish  with  the  tide. 

But  once  again,  they'll  meet  us, 

Beyond  this  mortal  shore  \ 
Their  shadowy  forms  will  greet  us, 

"With  taunting  scorn  once  more. 
They'll  point  with  solemn  finger 

'Long  mem'ry's  lava  tide ; 
Their  injured  ghosts  shall  linger, 

Forever  near  our  side. 


I'll  Wfak  gjpn. 


YOUNG  GIRL  DIED  WHILE  ABSENT  FROM  HOME  :  HER  LAST  MESSAGE  TO  HER 
FATHER,  WAS,  "TELL  HIM  I'LL  WAKE  AGAIN." 


Silently,  solemnly 

Waneth  the  day ; 
Far  from  home,  the  young  stranger 

Is  passing  away. 
The  day-light  is  fading, 

The  night  cometh  on; 


Twilight   Musings. 

The  death  angel  beckons, 
She  meets  him  alone. 

Tenderly,  carefully, 

Watching  her  bed, 
The  hand  of  the  stranger 

Is  raising  her  head. 
The  thought  is  a  solemn  one ; 

So  tenderly  cherished, 
So  far  from  her  childhood's  home, 

Thus  lonely  to  perish. 

Slowly  and  earnestly 

Turneth  her  eye 
To  the  door  of  her  chamber, 

With  a  deep-heaving  sigh. 
She  watches  with  earnest  love  ; 

Her  thoughts  are  at  home ; 
My  father,  my  honored  one, 

Will  he  not  come? 

Surely,  but  stealthily 

Death  draweth  nigh  : 
She  knows  it,  she  fears  it  not, 

Her  hopes  are  on  high. 
Anchored  within  the  vail, 

Her  feet  on  the  rock, 
Jordan's  waves  are  fierce  dashing, 

She  feels  not  the  shock. 

Fervently,  willingly 
Folding  her  arms, 


58  Twilight   Musings. 

"With  her  eye  fixed  on  Jesus, 
She  feels  no  alarms. 

She  feels  that  her  spirit 
Is  ebbing  away; 

She  leaves  a  last  message 
For  him  far  away. 

Sweetly,  confidingly 

Whisper  her  words ; 
So  near  to  the  haven, 

But  faintly  they're  heard. 
"'Tell  him,  I'll  wake  again,' 

"When  the  long  night 
Of  the  grave  is  all  over, — 

When  cometh  the  light. 

"  Transcendantly  glorious ! 

'Twill  beam  on  us  then, 
When  the  blest  resurrecfton 

Unites  us  again. 
Rays  from  the  spirit-land, 

Shine  on  me  now : 
My  death-bed  is  gilded 

By  the  heavenly  bow. 

"  Fondly,  Oh  !  lovingly 

Think  on  me  still ; 
Tho'  lonely  thy  fireside, 

Bow  to  Grod's  will. 
Father,  <  I'll  wake  again/ 

When  death  is  o'er; 
Then  free  from  sin  and  pain, 

We'll  part  no  more. 


Twilight  Musings.  39 

"  Sadly,  ah  !  pensively, 

When  evening  conies, 
Casting  its  shadows  dim 

Round  thy  lone  home. 
When  flowers  droop  and  die, 

Which  once  I  cherished1? 
Think  of  her,  who  like  them, 

So  early  perished. 

"  Faithfully,  trustingly, 

Father  believe ; 
Tho'  deep  are  my  slumbers, 

Again  I  shall  live. 
Yes,  1 1  shall  wake  again' 

On  the  bright  morn, 
When  from  the  sleep  of  death 

Saints  shall  return." 

Peacefully,  tranquilly, 

Life  passed  away, 
When  the  first  streaks  of  morning 

Illumined  the  day. 
Stranger  hands  tended  her, 
Kindly  befriended  her, 
Jesus  defended  her  : 

Peaceful  she  lay. 

Solemnly,  mournfully, 

When  the  bell  tolled  for  thee, 
Stranger  hands  tenderly 

Carried  thy  bier. 
Angel-bands  watched  o'er  thee, 
Human  hearts  wept  for  thee ; 
For  thy  young  destiny, 

Fell  sacred  tears. 


40  Twilight   Musings. 


ftjm's  music  torn  mbm. 

There  is  music  on  the  ocean, 

And  in  the  stilly  air : 
To  the  feeling  heart,  and  the  poet's  ear, 

There's  music  every  where. 
Her  voice  is  heard  in  ocean's  moan, 

And  melody  sublime, 
When  his  deep  toned  organ  rolls  along, 

In  solemn  measured  time. 

Sometimes  in  murmurs  deep  and  loud, 

Sometimes  with  sadder  sound, 
He  seems  to  mourn  o'er  the  buried  dead, 

Who  sleep  in  his  depths  profound. 
When  list'ning  to  his  sweeter  tones 

Dying  along  the  shore, 
I  ask  for  my  friends — will  they  come  again  ? 

He  murmurs — no  more — no  more. 

There  is  music  'mid  the  mountains, 

When  thunders  round  me  roar, 
As  they  echo  'mid  the  works  of  God, 

Sounding  His  mighty  power. 
'Tis  nature's  grand  cathedral,  where 

Terrific  might  is  shown  ; 
And  my  spirit  bows  in  silence  down, 

As  I  worship  there  alone. 

There's  music  in  the  wailing  wind, 
As  it  sweeps  wildly  by, 


Twilight   Musings.  41 

When  we  gather  round  the  winter  hearth, 

And  feel  the  tempest  nigh. 
We  hear  it  howl,  as  the  blast  rides  on, 

And  we  lift  our  hearts  in  prayer, 
For  the  friends  who  on  the  stormy  deep, 

Must  all  its  fury  dare. 

There's  music  'mid  the  cloisters  green 

Of  the  forest's  noble  trees, 
As  I  stand  beneath  their  arching  boughs. 

And  list  to  the  sighing  breeze 
Which  whispers  'mong  the  rustling  leaves, 

When  autumn  tints  appear; 
And  I  fondly  think  of  cherished  friends, 

Who  ne'er  will  meet  us  here. 

There's  music  in  the  full  toned  choir, 

As  grand  its  numbers  roll ; 
And  power  there  is,  in  the  lute  and  harp 

To  stir  the  human  soul. 
'Tis  sounded  full  by  martial  band, 

But  ah  !  too  well  we  know, 
That  it  leads  men  forth  to  woe  and  death, 

While  recklessly  they  go. 

I  catch  its  sounds  in  the  insect's  hum, 

When  summer  twilight  comes, 
As  they  sing  a  song  of  sweet  content, 

Amid  their  grassy  homes. 
There's  melody  in  an  infant's  voice, 

When  full  of  childish  glee, 
And  I  doubt  if  practised  notes,  more  sweet 

To  a  mother's  ear  can  be. 
4* 


42  Twilight   Musings. 

The  music  of  a  bappy  home, 

Let  not  a  harsh  word  mar; 
Let  harmony  'gainst  angry  strife, 

Each  peaceful  bosom  bar. 
No  sweeter  sounds  the  heart  can  hear 

Than  words  of  holy  love  : 
'Twill  form  the  theme  of  the  blessed  ones, 

In  the  music  heard  above. 

'Tis  wafted  by  the  evening  bells, 

As  floating  on  the  air, 
They  tell  us  of  Heaven,  they  speak  of  home, 

They  call  us  to  twilight  prayer. 
The  sweetest  notes  which  music  breathes, 

Varied  howe'er  their  tone, 
Still  leave  some  sounds  within  my  soul, 

Heard  in  those  depths  alone. 

I've  listened  for  an  answering  note, 

In  every  passing  sound ; 
But  these  deep  harpings  to  express, 

No  medium  is  found. 
Perhaps  in  Heaven,  an  angel's  harp 

May  strike  my  spirit's  string; 
Then  with  high  raptures  I'll  adore, 

And  anthems  loud  will  sing. 


Twilioht  Musings.  43 


!tat  for  %  Sailer. 


STRIKE    HIM    NOT. 


Strike  him  not,  strike  him  not, 

He  is  a  man ; 
The  noblest  creation 

That  came  from  God's  hand. 
Think  of  his  noble  birth, 
Think  of  his  soul  of  worth  ; 
Then,  this  poor  child  of  earth, 

Strike  if  you  can. 

Look  at  his  noble  brow, 

Silent  he  stands, 
While  the  rope  of  the  tyrant 

Has  fettered  his  hands. 
Think  of  his  mother's  tears, 
Think  of  his  sister's  prayers  ; 
While  he  stands  waiting  there, 

The  cruel  commands. 

The  bright  flag  of  freedom, 

In  scorn  seems  to  wave 
O'er  the  deck  where  a  freeman 

Is  bound  like  a  slave. 
In  majesty  swooping, 
There  o'er  the  deck  stooping 
In  shame,  she  bows  drooping, 
Refusing  to  wave. 


44  Twilight   Musings. 

Call  him  not,  call  him  not 

Sunken  and  low; 
'Tis  ye  who  have  made  him  so, 

Who  deal  the  blow. 
Treat  him  not  brutally, 
Love  him  but  brotherly ; 
Then  see  how  faithfully 

To  serve  thee,  he'll  go. 

Pity  the  mariner, 

Lonely  he  goes : 
Sons  of  humanity, 

Think  on  his  woes  ! 
Few  have  befriended  him, 
Few  have  defended  him  : 
More  have  offended  him, 

How  many  his  foes. 

Strike  him  not,  strike  him  not, 

He's  not  a  slave ; 
But  the  son  of  a  freeman 

He  rides  on  the  wave. 
On  the  seas  of  America, 
Oh  !  she  must  hear  our  prayer ; 
Or  we  cry  shame  on  her, 

She  must  come  to  save. 

Strike  him  not,  strike  him  not, 
Deal  not  the  blow ; 

Or  all  that  is  manly, 

From  the  spirit  must  go. 

Give  him  but  justice  then, 

Ye  !  who  are  noble  men : 


Twilight   Musings.  45 

Raise  him  from  earth  again, 
Crushed  now  so  low. 

Bind  up  his  bleeding  brow, 

Perish  the  rod : 
Stretch  out  a  brother's  hand, 

Show  him  the  road. 
Point  him  to  paths  of  peace, 
Bid  all  his  wand' rings  cease  : 
Lead  him  to  happiness  : 

Lead  him  to  God. 

Tempest-tost  mariner ! 

Scourging  shall  cease, 
"When  the  trump  of  the  gospel, 

Shall  bring  to  thee  peace. 
Loud  sound  the  jubilee, 
Son  of  the  mighty  sea  ! 
Thou  shalt  sing  loftily 

The  seaman's  release. 


ON   A    CONFIRMATION   SEASON. 

Where  art  thou  Mary  ? — still  astray, 
While  others  choose  the  narrow  way  ? 
Why  halt  ye  ? — life  speeds  fast  away; 
Thou  canst  not  count  its  hours. 


40  Twilight   Musings. 

Where  art  thou  Mary  ? — loving  eyes 
Have  watched  to  see  thy  form  arise  : 
Joining  young  pilgrims  to  the  skies  ; 

And  yet  thou  wilt  not  come. 
Where  art  thou  Mary  ?  Oh !  how  long 
Wilt  thou  among  the  careless  throng, 
Grieve  the  kind  hearts  who  earnest  long, 

To  hail  the  lost  one  found  ? 
Where  art  thou  Mary  ? — thinkest  thou, 
How  oft  thy  father's  knee  doth  bow 
Before  a  throne  of  grace,  whilst  thou 

Art  heedless  of  his  prayers  ? 
Where  art  thou  Mary  ? — shall  these  words 
In  tones  of  joy  or  grief  be  heard, 
When  the  deep  tombs  of  earth  are  stirred ; 

Where  wilt  thou  then  be  found  ? 
Wilt  thou  be  found  among  the  throng, 
Who  raptured  sing  salvation's  song  ? 
Then  joyful  cast  thy  lot  among 

Grod's  blessed  people  now. 
Then  in  the  resurrection  morn, 
When  saints  shall  from  the  grave  return  : 
Thou  shalt  on  angels'  wings  be  borne, 

To  meet  they  friends  in  Heaven. 


four  little  pi. 

Hush  !  'tis  a  solemn  scene,  sweet  childhood  lies 
In  the  deep  slumbers  of  an  early  tomb  : 


Twilight   Musings.   .  47 

Death's  wondrous  seal  is  on  those  smiling  eyes, 

Closed  never  more  to  weep  thy  sorrowing  doom. 
Poor,  patient  Nell !  still  is  thy  noble  heart : 
Hushed  are  its  woes,  pointless  affliction's  dart. 

Thy  little  hand,  which  oft  the  footsteps  led 
Of  the  old  man  throughout  his  weary  way, 

Now  lifeless  hangs ! — 'tis  nerveless,  cold,  and  dead  : 
That  kind  and  faithful  hand,  the  old  man's  stay. 

Thy  weary  wand'ring  feet,  no  more  shall  roam : 

Where  thou  art  gone,  fatigue  can  never  come. 

The  flowers  she  loved  are  strewed  upon  her  now, 
And  friends  she  cherished,  weep  around  her  bier  \ 

The  peace  of  Heav'n  is  on  her  marble  brow, 
And  angel  spirits  surely  hovered  near, 

When  gently  breathed  the  last  departing  sigh, 

Did  not  those  sister-spirits  hover  nigh  ? 

Nigh  to  rejoice  o'er  one  more  ransomed  child, 
Nigh  on  celestial  wings,  to  bear  her  home ; 

And  as  thy  parting  spirit  sweetly  smiled, 

Did  not  bright  visions  to  thy  death-bed  come  ? 

Visions  of  rest,  and  joy,  and  heav'nly  love, 

In  the  blest  home  prepared  for  thee  above. 

In  all  around,  thy  tender  voice  is  heard, 

The  flowers  thou  loved' st,  still  sweetly  speak  of  thee  : 
The  smiling  sky,  thy  walks,  thy  merry  bird, — 

All  gentle  things  in  nature  seem  to  be 
Mementos  of  our  noble-hearted  Nell ; 
For  'mid  its  lovely  scenes  she  joyed  to  dwell. 


48  Twilight   Musings. 

But  ah !  one  heart  was  crushed,  when  the  last  sigh 
Left  but  her  shadow  on  his  dreary  way : 

That  poor  old  man  could  only  linger  nigh 
In  sad  bewilderment,  from  day  to  day ; 

Seeking  her  early  grave,  in  helpless  sorrow, 

And  broken-hearted  say,  "  She'll  come  to-morrow/ ' 

The  sad  to-morrow  came — and  yet  another, 
And  still  he  sought  the  one  beloved  spot, 

With  all  the  patient  watching  of  a  mother  j 
Yet  she  he  fondly  loved,  still — she  came  not. 

Then  hope  expired — and  on  the  marble  stone 

They  found  the  poor  old  man — dead — and  alone. 

There,  side  by  side,  they  quietly  repose  : 
The  noble  child,  and  her  life's  weary  care : 

If  pure  unselfish  love,  this  world  e'er  knows, 
Twas  in  the  strong  affection  cherished  there. 

There  let  them  softly  rest, — strong-hearted  Nell, 

And  the  old  parent  whom  she  loved  sawell. 


Sofoing  anb  ^raping. 


HE  THAT  GOETH  FORTH  AND  REAPETH,  BEARING  PRECIOUS  SEED,  SHALL 
DOUBTLESS  COME  AGAIN  WITH  REJOICING,  BRINGING  HIS  SHEAVES  WITn 
HIM." 


On  the  broad  field  of  human  life, 
"Where'er  our  race  is  found  : 


Twilight   Musings. 

Each  moment  finds  our  busy  hands 

Casting  their  seed  around. 
Few  think  that  whatsoe'er  we  sow, 

That  shall  we  surely  reap  ; 
Or  feel  that  seed  cast  here  below 

Its  character  must  keep. 

The  merry  child,  with  prattling  glee, 

Sows  where  it  careless  stands, 
The  seeds  of  youthful  liberty : 

Check  not  its  little  hand. 
'Twill  reap  the  rosy  glow  of  health; 

Then  let  it  early  sow 
These  seeds,  more  rich  than  gilded  wealth 

Let  its  young  spirits  flow. 

The  warrior  sows  the  seeds  of  fame, 

As  he  girds  his  armor  on ; 
But  what  is  glory,  but  a  name  ? 

For  the  boasting  one  lies  down 
On  a  tented  field ;  his  gory  brow 

Kisses  the  grov'lling  dust : 
He  sows  for  fame,  he  reaps  but  death, 

And  his  sword  is  left  to  rust. 

The  worldling,  with  mere  earthly  seed 

Fills  up  the  fruitful  soil ; 
But  naught  repays  his  useless  zeal, 

Nothing  for  all  his  toil. 
He  grasps  the  fruit,  like  Sodom's,  fair; 

And  when  with  eager  trust 
He  tastes  what  tempts  his  longing  eye, 

'Tis  naught  but  worthless  dust, 


50  Twilight  Musings. 

But  there  are  sowers  in  the  field, 

Who  with  a  Christian's  faith 
Cast  in  their  store  of  precious  seed, 

Believing  what  He  saith, 
Whose  word  is  everlasting  truth, 

Who  bids  us  still  sow  on ; 
Cheering  our  hearts  with  these  blest  words : 

"  The  reaping  day  shall  come." 

What !  tho'  the  frosts  of  many  years 

Shall  cover  up  the  soil  ? 
What !  tho'  no  tender  shoots  appear, 

To  bless  our  weeping  toil  ? 
The  precious  seed  may  buried  lie, 

By  foes  all  trodden  down; 
Yet  sure  as  seasons  come  and  go, 

A  gospel  spring  shall  come. 

Ambassadors  for  Christ !  toil  on  ! 

Ye  mothers  !  weep  and  pray  ! 
Ye  teachers  !  with  a  patient  faith, 

Wait  for  the  reaping  day. 
' Twill  pay  your  toil,  'twill  change  your  sighs 

To  joy's  inspiring  notes, 
When  'mid  the  heav'nly  harvest-home, 

Your  songs  with  rapture  float. 

Sow  on,  ye  faithful  husbandmen  ! 

Have  but  one  earnest  care, 
That  ye  are  scatt'ring  the  true  seed, 

And  tending  it  by  prayer. 
'Twill  yield  a  harvest  here  below, 

Of  holy  joy  and  peace  j 


Twilight   Musings.  51 

'Twill  bless  you  with  abundant  fruit, 
When  earthly  toils  shall  cease. 

Then,  when  the  reaping  day  draws  near, 

When  all  the  reapers  come 
To  lay  their  sheaves  at  Jesus'  feet, 

And  shout  their  harvest-home, 
Ye !  who  with  tears  on  earth  went  forth, 

Bearing  your  precious  seed, 
Shall  then  return,  with  praises  high  : 

This  will  be  bliss  indeed. 


Co  Utaggic. 

See  the  bright  and  living  way, 
Leading  to  eternal  day ; 

Wilt  thou  tread  it  Maggie  ? 
True,  it  is  a  narrow  path, 
But  more  joy  its  trials  hath 
Than  the  boasted  stores  of  wealth  ; 

Come,  and  enter,  Maggie. 

While  thy  heart  with  love  is  warm, 
Ere  the  world  has  power  to  charm, 

Come  with  me,  dear  Maggie. 
Scorn  the  trifles  of  a  day, 
For  joys  that  never  will  decay, 
Then,  when  time  has  pass'd  away, 

Blest  shalt  thou  be  !  Maggie. 


52  Twilight  Musings. 

True,  the  cross  thy  soul  must  bear, 
But  the  smile  of  God  is  there ; 

Seek  for  that  dear  Maggie. 
Upward  !  onward  !  all  things  dare ; 
While  thy  soul  is  nerved  by  prayer, 
Thou  wilt  reach  the  haven,  where 

Naught  can  harm  thee,  Maggie. 

Earth  will  tempt  thee,  sin  allure, 
Wide  will  stand  the  open  door ; 

Enter  not,  dear  Maggie. 
Flowers,  the  serpent's  tooth  may  hide, 
Gilded  barks  may  seem  to  ride 
Safely  o'er  life's  rippling  tide; 

Trust  them  not,  dear  Maggie. 

In  the  pilgrim's  footsteps  tread, 
Fearing  naught ;  with  God  o'erhead, 

Thou  wilt  conquer,  Maggie. 
Then,  when  sin  and  death  are  o'er, 
Thou  may'st  reach  the  happy  shore; 
Once  safely  reached,  we  part  no  more  : 

Meet  me  there,  dear  Maggie. 


Childhood's  happy  days  are  ours, 
Sunny  beams  around  us  shine; 


Twilight   Musings.  53 

Pretty  wreaths  of  summer  flowers 
Oft  with  careless  joy  we  twine. 

When  we  pluck  their  smiling  sweets, 

Which  around  our  footsteps  fall, 
May  we  ne'er  the  truth  forget, 

That  our  Father  made  them  all. 

When  our  daily  sports  are  done, 

Then  we  seek  a  mother's  feet ; 
Listen  to  her  well-kept  store, 

And  her  tales  of  love  repeat. 


%  ftisit  of  %  gobe. 


VEXI    CREATOR. 


In  a  temple  high  and  holy, 
'Mid  a  season  calm  and  lowly, 
When  the  voice  of  God  is  calling ; 
And  his  children  lowly  falling, 
While  they  thus,  his  help  implore, 
Comes  the  Holy  Dove — once  more  ! 

Mercy's  arms  are  yet  surrounding, 
Clear  the  gospel  peals  are  sounding, 
Stirring  'mid  these  pews  so  solemn, 
Echoing  from  each  lofty  column, 
Carried  to  each  spirit's  door, 
Will  they  grieve  the  Dove  ? — once  more 
5* 


Twilight  Musings. 

'Mid  the  Sabbath's  holy  sunlight, 
'Mid  the  evening's  hallowed  twilight, 
Comes  the  Holy  Dove  impressing 
Souls  who  need  a  Savior's  blessing, 
Entering  at  the  sacred  door, 
Pleading — waiting — evermore. 

Ah  !  how  oft  their  footsteps  pressing 
Up  these  aisles,  when  God  is  blessing ; 
Many  come  with  mien  so  careless, 
Blind  and  hardened — therefore  fearless 
Think  they,  as  they  come  once  more, 
God  may  call  them — nevermore  ? 

Down  these  aisles,  in  holy  hours, 
Moves  the  Dove,  with  silent  power ; 
Tarrying  round  some  halting  spirit, 
Halting — tho'  the  Dove  be  near  it ; 
Knocking — knocking — evermore, 
Can  she  bar  her  heart  ? — once  more  ! 

With  a  patience,  kind  and  loving, 
Deeply  pressing  thoughts  so  moving, 
But  alas  !  for  earthly  pleasure 
She  has  bartered  heavenly  treasure ; 
Must  I  leave  thee  ? — evermore  ! 
Sighed  the  Dove — as  closed  the  door. 

Near  a  man,  whose  mortal  journey 
Half  is  ended — sounds  of  "  Turn  ye," 
Whispered  near  with  solemn  power, 
Tells  him,  'tis  salvation's  hour. 
Will  he  hearken  ? — or  once  more 
Drive  the  Spirit  from  his  door. 


Twilight  Musings. 

Tears  of  anguish  fast  are  stealing, 
Gushing  from  the  fount  of  feeling, 
Like  Agrippa,  undecided, 
Between  earth  and  Heaven  divided. 
One  more  call,  and  it  is  o'er : 
God  may  call  him — nevermore  ! 

Near  a  spirit,  bowed  with  mourning, 
While  to  Jesus  it  is  turning, 
Halts  the  Dove,  and  smiles  upon  it, 
Folds  his  wings  and  sits  beside  it; 
Tempest  tossed — 'tis  near  the  shore  : 
He  will  leave  it — nevermore. 

'Mid  the  spirit's  harp-strings  stealing, 
He  has  touched  the  chords  of  feeling ; 
And  from  out  those  depths  mysterious 
Heavenly  strains  are  sent  to  cheer  us, 
When  the  struggle  all  is  o'er, 
And  we  grieve  the  Dove — no  more. 

Scenes  like  these,  are  acting  near  us, 
God  is  present — may  he  hear  us ; 
In  these  forms  around  us  crowding, 
Some  may  weave  their  spirit's  shrouding. 
Hover,  Holy  Dove — still  o'er : 
Leave,  ah  !  leave  us — nevermore. 


Lenten  Season,  1852. 


56  Twilight  Musings. 


%  Jusknb's  Crjr  of  ^.ngub^. 

"ALL  THY  WAVES  HAVE  GONE  OVER  ME." 

Like  to  the  harp,  when  through  its  strings  are  stealing 

Mysterious  melody,  stirred  by  the  air ; 
So  is  the  heart,  whose  faintest  chord  of  feeling 

Reaches  beyond  the  stars,  and  wakens  there 
His  sympathy,  who  scarcely  hears  the  sound, 
Ere  near  to  watch  its  harpings,  he  is  found. 

Out  of  the  depths  of  woe,  my  heart  is  calling 
To  thee,  my  Savior  !  in  this  dismal  hour ; 

Low  in  the  dust,  before  thy  footstool  kneeling, 
Oh  !  hide  me  near  thy  side,  when  tempests  lower. 

Thou  hast  sweet  sympathy  with  sorrow's  tear  : 

To  weeping  Christians,  thou  art  ever  near. 

Not  'mid  the  festive  seenes,  where  joy  is  smiling, 
Wert  thou,  our  burden-bearer,  often  found ; 

Not  where  the  song  of  mirth,  life's  hours  beguiling, 
But  where  the  wail  of  woe  breathes  plaintive  sounds. 

Smiles  were  not  worn  by  thee ;  slow  falling  tears 

Became  our  Lord,  who  all  our  sorrows  bears. 

Now,  while  the  waves  of  woe  are  rolling  o'er  me, 
Oh  !  show  me  where  to  place  my  trembling  feet, 

When  earth  is  failing,  and  there  lies  before  me 
The  wreck  of  all  which  made  my  home  so  sweet. 

From  off  a  stricken  hearth,  on  thee  I  call : 

Oh  !  leave  me  not,  lest  grief  my  heart  appal. 


Twilight  Musings.  57 

Out  of  the  sorrow  of  my  darkened  chamber, 

Out  of  the  stillness  of  my  gloomy  hall ; 
Where  oft  my  darling  to  my  knees  would  clamber, 

When  blest,  I  listened  to  her  infant  call. 
Out  of  those  depths  of  anguish,  hear  my  cry, 
Thou,  who  didst  never  pass  the  weeping  by. 

Out  of  the  loneliness  of  that  sad  hour, 

When  we  were  wont  to  worship,  side  by  side ; 

Still,  still  unconscious  led  by  habit's  power, 

I  find  my  heart  still  praying,  "  Bless  my  bride." 

All  solitary  now — I  pray  alone, 

O,  hear  me !  from  thy  everlasting  throne. 

Give  me  the  glass  of  faith  to  see  the  beaming 

Which  from  the  Savior's  tomb,  sends  out  its  light ; 

Down  thro'  the  tombs  of  all  his  saints,  now  streaming, 
Scatt'ring  forever,  death's  appalling  night. 

Then,  when  I  leave  the  precious  dust  with  thee, 

Teach  me  to  look  beyond,  where  they  are  free. 

Give  me  the  glass  of  faith,  to  see  the  meeting 
Full  of  entrancing  joy,  and  sweet  surprise ) 

Scarce  has  the  mother's  spirit  heard  Heaven's  greeting:, 
Ere  her  heart's  darling  meets  her  wond'ring  eyes  : 

There  would  I  leave  them :  teach  my  heart  to  say, 

"Thy  holy  will  be  done  :"  I  would  obey. 

And  yet,  my  Lord  !  thou  wilt  forgive  the  anguish 
That  wrings  my  bosom,  as  I  miss  her  voice; 

When  for  her  smile  of  love,  my  soul  must  languish  : 
For  her  sweet  presence  did  my  heart  rejoice. 

Thou  !  who  did'st  weep  at  Lazarus'  early  tomb, 

Pity  the  grief  which  fills  my  lonely  home. 


58  Twilight  Musings. 

A  three-fold  cord  now  draws  my  heart  to  Heaven 
Three  golden  links,  now  bind  my  spirit  there ; 

Three  angel  spirits  to  my  faith  are  given, 
Whose  voices  seem  to  whisper  on  the  air. 

0  !  may  this  three-fold  tie  allure  me  hence  : 

May  faith  soon  triumph  over  drowsy  sense. 


"FOR  so  he  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 

Life's  conflicts  over,  while  angels  hover 
Around  the  dying  saint,  tho'  out  of  sight ; 

'Mid  peaceful  slumbers,  which  Jesus  numbers, 
He  folds  his  weary  arms,  and  smiles  good-night. 

Good-night  to  sorrow;  he'll  wake  to-morrow, 
When  the  deep  slumbers  of  the  tomb  are  o'er; 

Death  brings  no  terror,  no  voice  of  horror 
To  him,  who  rests  secure  in  Jesus'  power. 

Farewell  to  anguish  !  no  more  to  languish 

'Neath  sin  and  Satan's  fierce  assaulting  might ; 

To  dark  temptation,  heirs  of  salvation 
Bid  in  the  dying  hour,  a  last  good-night. 

If  friends  of  Jesus,  death  only  frees  us, 

Tho'  sad  the  parting,  'tis  a  short  good-night ; 

Where  naught  can  sever,  we'll  dwell  forever, 
And  find  the  lost  again,  in  realms  of  light. 


Twilight   Musings.  59 

In  Jesus'  keeping,  dead  saints  are  sleeping, 
Waiting  till  the  last  trump  to  burst  the  tomb ; 

O,  blessed  morning  !  when  back  returning 
The  Savior  comes,  to  call  his  wand'rers  home. 

From  their  long  slumbers,  in  countless  numbers, 
The  sleepers  wake  at  first,  with  sweet  surprize  ; 

0,  change  how  glorious  !  when  first  victorious, 
The  mortal,  made  immortal,  seeks  the  skies. 

When  fresh  awaking,  the  dead  are  shaking, 
Methinks  the  motion  of  their  angel  wings, 

Like  first-tried  pinions,  'mid  death's  dominions, 
May  struggle  with  the  dust,  which  to  them  clings. 

One  breath  of  Heaven,  and  power  is  given, 
To  rise  triumphant  to  the  realms  of  light : 

O'er  death  victorious,  the  dust  made  glorious, 
Bids  to  the  grave  forevermore — good-night. 

'Tis  then  good-morning !  lost  friends  returning, 
Hailing  with  joy,  the  resurrection  morn ; 

Whose  sun  bright-shining,  no  more  declining, 
Beams  all  around  an  everlasting  noon. 


&jie  fjfamt  of  Jtaits. 

"  UNTO   T0T7,  WHICH  BELIEVE,  HE   IS   PRECIOUS. 

There's  a  name  in  my  bosom  hidden, 
More  dear  than  all  beside ; 


Twilight  Musings. 

'Tis  the  blessed  name  of  Jesus, 
The  Lamb  once  crucified. 

There's  magic  in  the  whisper 
Of  the  one  beloved  name ; 

To  fright  away  temptation, 
And  demons  dire  to  tame. 

'Tis  like  to  precious  ointment, 

Spreading  its  fragrance  round  : 
Free  as  the  air  which  scatters  it, 

Its  odors  sweet  abound. 
The  heart  of  man  hath  its  longings, 

How  deep  no  tongue  can  tell ; 
Down  in  its  silent  chambers, 

There's  a  deep  and  boundless  well. 

Out  of  those  depths  mysterious, 

Comes  like  a  spirit's  moan, 
A  voice  reaching  up  to  Heaven, 

Heard  in  those  courts  alone. 
That  voice  calls  out  for  pardon  : 

Our  Father  hears  the  cry ; 
The  precious  name  is  whispered  : 

Faith  anchors  in  the  sky. 

'Tis  like  soft  strains  of  music, 

Soothing  the  spirit's  woes ; 
But  breathing  sweeter  melodies, 

It  brings  the  soul  repose. 
More  mild  than  breath  of  evening, 

More  calm  than  summer  lake  j 
'Tis  far  above  all  harmonies 

Which  of  the  earth  partake. 


Twilight    Musings.  61 

'Tis  like  a  clue  of  silver  thread, 

Which  in  sin's  thorny  maze 
Is  dropped  from  Heaven,  to  guide  us  safe 

Through  earth's  entangled  ways. 
'Tis  like  a  light,  which  shines  from  far, 

When  midnight  blasts  assail ; 
Guiding  the  storm-tost  mariner, 

Safe  through  the  fearful  gale. 

'Tis  like  the  greeting  of  a  friend 

In  the  poor  captive's  cell ; 
Who  comes  of  sweet  deliverance, 

The  joyful  news  to  tell. 
;Tis  like  the  rainbow's  glorious  arch, 

Which,  spanning  earth  around, 
Proclaims  in  tones  of  sweetest  love, 

Blest  notes  of  mercy's  sound. 

It  soothes  the  pillow  of  the  saint, 

It  gilds  the  dying  hour, 
It  takes  from  death  the  poisoned  sting, 

And  from  the  grave  its  power. 
It  guides  the  ransomed  soul  safe  home, 

E'en  to  the  heavenly  gates  : 
Where  angels  watch  to  hear  that  name, 

As  they  obedient  wait. 

The  names  of  friends  may  fade  away, 

From  mem'ry's  dark'ning  cells; 
When  death  and  weakness  cloud  the  mind, 

And  Jordan's  billows  swell. 
But  saints,  quite  dead  to  earthly  things, 

Have  at  the  blessed  sound 
6 


62  Twilight    Musings. 

Of  Jesus'  name,  woke  up  with  joy, 
And  in  that,  comfort  found. 

That  name  presents  my  feeble  prayers, 

Perfumed  with  precious  blood  : 
That  name  avails  for  me  to  plead 

Before  the  throne  of  God. 
My  elder  brother  feels  for  me, 

With  rev'rence  speak  it  low; 
For  me,  a  child  of  dust  and  sin ; 

For  me,  an  heir  of  woe. 

The  name  of  Jesus  sheds  a  light, 

On  all  our  earthly  joys; 
It  gilds  the  Christian's  fireside, 

It  all  our  dross  destroys. 
It  sanctifies  the  Christian's  home ; 

It  blesses  morn  and  even  j 
It  binds  more  closely  those  who  love, 

And  hope  to  meet  in  heaven. 


Drtatjjfttgs  alter  Cjjrist 

Yes,  thou  art  holy,  high  and  lofty  One  ! 

All  God's  perfections  dwell  alone  in  thee  : 
The  bright  and  morning  star,  the  glorious  suu, 

All  fail  to  show  thy  boundless  majesty. 
0,  that  the  Spirit  of  my  Lord  might  come, 
And  in  my  sinful  bosom,  make  His  home. 


Twilight    Musings. 

Oh  !  I  would  gaze  on  Jesus,  till  on  me 
His  moral  likeness  fully  is  impressed : 

Till  on  my  spirit,  I  may  humbly  see 

Those  heavenly  traits  which  make  me  truly  blest ; 

Thus  changed  into  His  image,  day  by  day, 

I  may  be  like  Him,  while  on  earth  I  stay. 

Sometimes,  a  vision  of  my  Savior  seems 
In  the  dim  distance,  e'en  to  smile  on  me, 

But  misty  veils  of  sense  obscure  His  beams, 
And  but  faint  glimpses  of  my  Lord  I  see. 

Oh  !  for  the  glass  of  faith  to  bring  Him  near, 

Then  would  these  shadowy  clouds  all  disappear. 

What,  tho'  these  misty  vapors  intervene 
To  hide  my  Savior  from  my  longing  eyes  ! 

His  nature  knows  no  change  ;  clouds  only  seem 
To  make  His  beams  more  bright  when  they  arise. 

Then  let  me  trust  my  Savior,  day  by  day, 

Till  landed  where  these  shadows  pass  away. 

Oft,  when  the  favored  hour  of  faith  draws  near, 
And  all  is  peace  and  blessedness  within, 

Sudden,  dark  spirits  of  the  pit  appear, 

To  drown  my  trembling  soul  in  floods  of  sin. 

Naught  but  the  standard  of  Almighty  power, 

Can  shelter  me,  in  dark  temptation's  hour. 

Like  the  poor  captive  bird,  who  beats  her  wings 
'Gainst  her  barred  prison,  struggling  to  be  free, 

Till  some  kind  pitying  hand  deliverance  brings 
Unbars  her  cage,  and  gives  her  liberty; 


64  Twilight    Musings. 

Thus  strives  in  vain  the  tost  and  tempted  soul, 
Till  Christ's  almighty  voice  her  foes  control. 

Sighing,  despairing,  struggling,  all  in  vain, 
The  fettered  spirit  sinks  amid  her  foes ; 

When  Jesus'  powerful  hand  unlinks  the  chain, 
Bringing  the  captive  mourner,  sweet  repose : 

Bounding  with  joy,  the  soul  from  sin  set  free, 

Basks  in  the  sunlight  of  her  liberty. 


Clje  Clufl  Hlomttams: 

SINAI   AND    CALVARY. 

Come  with  me,  fellow  traveller  to  the  skies ; 

And  stand  beside  me,  near  the  awful  mount : 
Let  us  to  Sinai  raise  our  wondering  eyes, 

And  tremble  while  the  story  we  recount. 
Thunders  are  rolling  with  appalling  tones ; 

Lightnings  are  flashing  round  its  awful  peak ; 
The  quaking  earth,  God's  mighty  presence  owns ; 

And  'mid  these  terrors,  hear  Jehovah  speak. 

He  speaks  the  mandates  of  His  holy  law, 
In  accents  stern,  with  majesty  severe  : 

Mortals  attend  !  with  reverential  awe, 

And  tremble  while  its  fearful  tones  ye  hear. 

Like  a  stern  judge,  there  stands  the  fiery  law, 
With  sword  uplifted,  ready  to  descend  : 


Twilight  Musings.  65 

Who  can  the  stroke  escape,  when  justice  draws, 
And  through  the  ranks  of  rebels,  ruin  sends. 

I  hear  its  trumpet  tones,  as  uttered  loud, 

They  seem  to  echo  from  high  Heaven's  throne ; 
Countless  transgressions  on  my  mem'ry  crowd, 

And  if  no  help  is  found,  I  am  undone. 
But  what  bright  angel,  guides  my  trembling  feet 

Almost  despairing  to  another  mount, 
"Where  I  would  to  a  listening  world  repeat 

Scenes,  which  angelic  hosts  gladly  recount. 

There  hangs  the  bleeding  victim  slain  for  us ; 

There  groans  the  innocent  for  sinner's  guilt ; 
There  was  the  law  atoned  for,  rebels  thus 

Are  pardoned,  through  the  blood  thus  freely  spilt. 
There  nature  sympathized,  and  heaved  a  groan, 

Which  shook  her  centre,  when  her  Maker  died, 
The  sun  refused  to  shine,  and  man  alone 

Still  spurned  the  Savior;  mocked  the  crucified. 

But  we  have  come  to  Zion's  holy  mount, 

And  to  the  blest  assembly  of  the  just; 
Here  may  we  find  a  never  failing  fount 

Where  we  may  bathe  our  souls  with  holy  trust. 
Sinai's  terrific  voice  in  accents  loud, 

Drives  us  to  Calvary,  there  alone  we  learn 
The  way  to-Zion,  let  us  grateful  crowd 

Till  all  creation  to  the  Lord  are  turned. 
6* 


66  Twilight    Musings. 

Cff  ®«r  f astor, 

ON  HIS  DEPARTURE  FOR  THE  HOLY  LAND. 

Calm  be  the  bosom  of  the  rolling  ocean, 

Which  bears  our  pastor  to  a  distant  land, 
Wafting  his  bark  along  with  gentle  motion, 

By  unseen  hands. 
When  by  its  swelling  billows  we  are  parted, 

Then  may  our  Father  kindly  watch  o'er  thee ; 
Yet  binding  closely  still  all  the  true-hearted, 

Who  bend  the  knee. 
May  the  blest  dove  of  peace  be  ever  near  thee, 
Fanning  its  gentle  winds  around  thy  head ; 
Still  singing  soothing  hymns  when  thou  art  weary, 

Around  thy  bed. 
May  the  sweet  nightingale  of  mem'ry  hover, 

At  evening  hour  close  to  thy  beating  heart; 
In  gushing  songs  of  rapture,  trilling  over 

With  witching  art. 
Calling  up  faces  of  the  fondly  cherished, 

Which  like  to  moving  pictures  quickly  pass ; 
But  not  like  magic  views  so  soon  to  perish, 
Of  brittle  glass. 
For  there  are  memories  in  the  holy  union, 

Which  binds  the  pastor  and  his  flock  as  one; 
Which  must  endure,  while  yet  the  saint's  communion 

Still  stretcheth  on. 
Thou  hast  been  with  us  in  the  joyous  hour, 

When  youthful  hearts  have  pledged  the  marriage-vow ; 
And  in  return,  we  pray  God's  love  and  power 
May  bless  thee  now. 


Twilight    Musings.  67 

And  thou  hast  whispered  peace  around  the  dying, 

In  the  deep  tenderness  of  faithful  prayer; 
And  bid  us  look  where  neither  sin  nor  sighing 

Can  taint  the  air. 
Naught  but  the  kindness  of  a  Christ-like  father, 

Can  I  remember  at  our  pastor's  hands;  , 

The  meek  forbearance  of  a  mother,  rather, 

Before  me  stands. 
If  in  a  thoughtless  hour,  I  have  ever 

Laid  but  a  feather's  weight  upon  thy  heart 
So  heavy  burdened — now  forgive,  forever 
Ere  ye  depart. 
Thy  feet  will  tread  the  land  of  sacred  story, 

The  spot  where  laid  our  Savior's  cradle-bed ; 
The  stream  baptismal,  where  the  Lord  of  glory 

Bowed  low  His  head. 
The  garden,  where  in  deepest  woe  He  languished, 

The  trees  'neath  which  was  stretched  His  prostrate  form  ; 
"Where  wrath  was  poured  on  Him  in  bitter  anguish, 

Like  fiercest  storm. 
The  Via  Dolorosa,  and  the  mountain, 

Where  hung  the  crucified,  for  sinners  slain; 
There  may'st  thou  feel  the  value  of  that  fountain ; 

Its  precious  gain. 
May  the  Lord's  faithful  watch,  in  safety  keep  thee, 

When  we  are  absent  from  each  other's  sight : 
From  every  evil  may  His  love  defend  thee, 

By  day — by  night. 
May  angels  guide  thy  vessel  safely  over 

The  dark  blue  sea,  to  where  thy  heart  would  be : 
With  outspread  wings,  may  they  securely  cover 
Thy  home,  and  thee. 


Twilight    Musings. 


'Twas  in  the  days  of  ancient  yore, 

In  favored  Israel's  land ; 
There  lived  a  king,  whose  word  alone, 

Whole  armies  could  command. 
Strong  to  contend  with  mortal  foes, 

One  foe  he  could  not  tame  : 
Who  oft  in  dark  temptation's  hour, 

The  lofty  one  o'ercarne. 

The  scowling  brow,  and  angry  glance 

Told  when  the  foe  was  near, 
Who  then  could  help  the  kingly  Saul  ? 

Who  then  the  wretched  cheer  ? 
'Twas  David's  harp,  and  David's  voice, 

Alone  could  charm  away, 
Those  fierce  assaults  of  ghostly  power, 

And  turn  that  night  to  day. 

But  soothed  by  him,  the  spirit  fled, 

Subdued  by  gentle  sounds 
Of  heav'nly  music's  thrilling  strains, 

Spreading  sweet  peace  around  ; 
Thus,  rising  passion  clouds  thy  brow, 

And  oft  disturbs  thy  peace  : 
Oh  !  for  some  pow'r,  whose  mighty  voice 

Would  bid  the  tempest  cease. 

I'd  be  to  thee,  like  David's  harp 
Of  sweetly  soothing  pow'r; 


Twilight    Musings.  69 

And  whisper  near  thee,  words  of  peace, 

In  passion's  troubled  hour. 
But  David's  harp,  and  friendship's  voice 

Are  all  alas  !  in  vain 
Unless  the  Spirit's  breath  descends 

And  wakes  a  heav'nly  strain. 

Come  then,  Oh !  blessed  Spirit  come, 

And  shed  upon  my  boy, 
The  breath  of  Heav'n's  celestial  light, 

And  fill  that  heart  with  joy. 
Not  earthly  joy,  which  fades  away, 

Like  dew  on  summer  even ; 
But  such  as  fills  an  angel's  heart, 

And  forms  the  bliss  of  Heaven. 

Thus,  tuned  to  those  celestial  notes, 

Thy  heart  may  learn  to  join 
The  blissful  minstrels  of  the  sky, 

In  hymns  of  praise  divine. 
Thy  hand  may  strike  an  angel's  harp, 

Than  David's  far  more  sweet : 
Thy  feet  may  tread  the  shining  way 

Of  Heaven's  golden  street. 


Jflut  Joafctk  Jlarmis. 


LITTLE    JOSEPH. 


In  a  chamber  sad  and  quiet, 

"Where  a  couch  of  suflfring  stood  j 


TO  Twilight  Musings. 

"With  kind  friends  to  watch  beside  it, 

Waiting  for  the  will  of  God. 
Lay  a  loved  one,  sorely  stricken, 

Pale  and  suff'ring,  weak  and  wan; 
On  his  brow  so  plainly  written : 

"  Jesus  calls,  I  must  be  gone." 

Meni'ry  paints  his  form  so  wasted, 

And  the  face  so  sadly  grave ; 
Just  as  tho'  his  soul  had  tasted 

Drops  of  death's  mysterious  wave. 
Naught  could  charm  him,  naught  could  waken, 

Smiles  upon  that  pallid  face ; 
And  the  little  frame  so  shaken, 

Gently  sank  in  death's  embrace. 

Left  the  home  where  he  was  cherished, 

And  the  bosom  where  he  laid; 
Early  stricken,  early  perished, 

Sad  the  household  he  has  made. 
Mother,  is  not  this  the  picture 

Which  is  hung  on  mem'ry's  wall  ? 
Keeping  bright  each  speaking  feature ; 

Ever  answ'ring  to  thy  call. 

Raise  thine  eyes  from  earth  to  Heaven, 

See  the  bright  and  shining  throng, 
Freely  all  their  sins  forgiven, 

Loud  they  sing  redemption's  song. 
On  the  banks  of  life's  blest  river, 

Flowing  near  the  throne  of  God, 
There  they  rest  in  peace  forever, 

Washed  in  Jesus'  precious  blood. 


Twilight    Musings. 

'Mong  the  throng  of  blessed  spirits, 

Two  are  walking  hand  in  hand ; 
Called  together  to  inherit 

Mansions  in  the  better  land. 
Oft  were  heard  their  infant  voices 

Singing  of  the  "  happy  land  f 
Now  the  heav'nly  throng  rejoices, 

As  they  join  the  blessed  band. 

Mother,  look  not  'mong  the  dying 

For  your  fondly  cherished  child, 
Think  not  where  his  dust  is  lying 

In  the  grave,  soiled  and  defiled. 
Think  of  bliss,  pure  and  unending; 

Think  of  everlasting  joy; 
Oft  in  faith  to  Heav'n  ascending, 

There  behold  your  angel-boy. 

Jesus  oft  has  kindly  wooed  you, 

Now  he  takes  your  lamb  away, 
Not  to  wound  you,  but  to  lead  you 

After  him  in  wisdom's  way. 
Seek  to  know  his  precious  Savior, 

Seek  to  follow  him  above; 
In  your  Heav'nly  Father's  favor, 

Seek  to  find  your  joy,  your  love. 


Twilight    Musings. 


St.  Steven's  gdk 

Come  to  Jesus,  come  to  Jesus, 

Sweetly  sound  the  Sabbath  chimes, 

From  distracting  cares  they  free  us, 
Weekly  marking  holy  time — 

Come  to  Jesus, 
Peaceful  rings  the  blessed  rhyme. 

Mortals  dying,  mortals  dying, 
"We  their  solemn  requiem  toll ; 

Winds  around  us  sadly  sighing 
Oft  for  lost  and  ruined  souls — 

Grone  forever 
To  their  everlasting  goal. 

Saints  departed,  saints  departed, 
Hopeful  sounds  their  fun'ral  knell ; 

Comforting  the  broken-hearted, 
Rest  in  Jesus,  tolls  the  bell — 

Rest  in  Jesus, 
Seems  upon  the  air  to  swell. 


%\t  Stricken  (feik 

In  the  land  of  my  sad  exile, 

Clouds  and  darkness  gathered  round ; 


Twilight    Musings.  73 

Dreary  hours  of  deep  dejection, 

Oft  my  weeping  spirit  found. 
In  the  evening  hour  of  twilight, 

Comes  my  mother  to  her  child  : 
Sits  beside  me  in  the  gloaming — 

Smiling  then  as  once  she  smiled. 

Then  a  sister's  gentle  accents 

Often  whisper  loving  words ; 
And  my  heart  is  almost  bursting 

For  the  tones  that  once  I  heard ; 
Tones  which  echo  from  the  distance, 

Over  hill,  and  dale,  and  sea ; 
Looks  of  love  and  tender  greeting, 

Shall  they  ever  visit  me  ? 

Oft  in  dreams,  as  in  my  childhood, 

Sporting  by  the  beauteous  Rhine  : 
Come  the  faces  fondly  cherished — 

Mother,  sister,  they  are  thine. 
Bathed  in  tears  of  joy,  I  waken, 

The  sweet  vision  all  has  fled, 
Shall  I  ever  see  those  loved  ones  ? 

Ah  !  to  me  they  are  as  dead. 
*  *  *  * 

Late  there  rose,  amid  the  darkness, 

Like  a  rainbow  in  my  Heaven  j 
A  sweet  spirit,  pure  and  lovely, 

To  my  lonely  heart  was  given. 
Like  a  sunbeam  brightly  shining 

O'er  a  cold  and  wintry  sky; 
She  diffused  such  rays  of  sunshine, 

Lightened  by  her  lustrous  eyes: 


74  Twilight    Musings. 

Like  a  lute,  whose  melting  music 

Soothes  my  spirit  into  peace ; 
Sweet  she  bade  my  weary  wand' rings 

By  her  faithful  side  to  cease. 
Late,  I  found  this  precious  treasure, 

All  her  store  of  love  was  mine ; 
Like  the  pilgrim  of  Mohammed,  • 

Late,  I  reached  my  Mecca's  shrine. 

But,  alas  !  the  howling  tempest, 

Quenched  my  rainbow's  rosy-light : 
Faded  then  my  precious  sumbeam, 

Sank  its  rays  in  dismal  night. 
And  the  lute's  soft  notes  grew  fainter, 

Piercing-sweet  its  dying  tone  : 
Till  at  last  it  ceased  forever, 

And  my  heart  was  left  alone. 

Scarce  our  vows  of  love  were  plighted, 

Ere  she  faded  from  my  sight ; 
None  to  love  the  hapless  exile — 

None  to  cheer  my  dreary  night. 
Crowned  with  spring's  sweet  buds  and  blossoms, 

Pale  she  lay,  a  youthful  bride, 
Clad  in  vestal  robes  of  whiteness, — 

She  who  once  was  all  my  pride. 

Like  a  flower  crushed  and  broken, 

All  its  tendrils  rudely  torn ; 
Soiled  and  withered,  sadly  trailing 

Lowly  in  the  dust  forlorn. 
On  her  grave,  our  hands  are  strewing, 

Flowers  that  ne'er  again  will  bloom ; 


Twilight    Musings.  75 

But  when  dawns  the  spring  eternal, 
We  shall  look  for  her  to  come. 

On  our  day  of  joyous  bridal, 

She  was  given  to  the  tomb ; 
There  we  laid  her  precious  relics, 

In  the  hope  of  joys  to  come. 
Let  us  look  beyond  the  portals 

Of  her  everlasting  rest, 
Where  we  trust  that  she  is  sheltered, 

Safe  upon  her  Savior's  breast. 

Let  me  look  from  earth  to  Heaven, 

Laying  up  my  treasure  there ; 
Where  no  earthly  foes  can  reach  me 

Thieves  can  never  enter  there. 
Let  my  footsteps  pressing  onward, 

Seek  for  Heaven's  enduring  rest : 
Where  the  ransomed  are  united — 

Where  the  righteous  all  are  bless'd. 


Conjugal  Affection. 


"  WE    HAVE    GROWN    OLD    TOGETHER. 

We  have  grown  old  together, 
And  I  feel  that  we  must  part ; 

The  chill  of  age  is  on  us, 

But  it  has  not  reached  our  heart. 


76  Twilight    Musings. 

I  see  your  locks  of  silver, 

Time's  angel  placed  them  there ; 

They  look  like  rays  of  glory, 

When  your  head  is  bowed  in  prayer. 

The  cottage  I  remember, 

And  the  little  wicket-gate, 
Where  in  the  shades  of  ev'ning, 

For  your  coming  I  would  wait. 
Those  moonlights  I  remember, 

And  our  parting  at  the  stile ; 
I  can  hear  "  G-ood-night,  my  Mary;" 

I  can  see  your  loving  smile. 

The  church  where  we  were  wedded, 

And  our  humble  little  home, 
Where  with  a-  true  and  pious  heart, 

You  bade  your  Mary  come. 
Ah  !  John,  you've  been  a  faithful  friend, 

Through  fifty  changing  years ;     • 
You've  borne  with  all  my  weakness, 

And  wiped  away  my  tears. 

Ours  has  been  an  humble  lot : 

But  we've  always  been  content 
To  tread  a  lowly  path  in  life, 

So  long  as  God  hath  lent 
The  treasure  of  each  other's  love, 

To  cheer  us  on  our  way 
To  mansions  in  the  Heavens, 

In  the  world  of  upper  day. 

No  chilling  words  have  ever  passed 
Your  lips,  my  faithful  John, 


Twilight    Musings.  77 

And  yours  has  been  a  noble  heart, 

For  your  wife  to  lean  upon. 
I  bless  you  now,  my  husband, 

For  your  love  so  warm  and  true, 
Which  never  failed,  tho'  youthful  charms 

Have  faded  from  your  view. 

At  morning,  and  at  ev'ning, 

We  have  sought  the  throne  of  grace, 
And  round  the  table  of  our  Lord, 

In  the  same  familiar  place, 
We've  ate  the  feast  together, 

Of  a  Savior's  dying  love. 
0,  bless' d  the  hope,  that  we  shall  sit 

At  the  marriage-feast  above. 

We've  had  our  earthly  trials, 

But  they  all  were  for  our  good ) 
For  they  brought  the  sweet  experience 

Of  the  goodness  of  our  God. 
When  we  laid  away  our  darling, 

In  the  freshness  of  her  bloom ; 
When  our  hearts  were  almost  breaking, 

As  we  closed  her  early  tomb. 

Ah  !  then  the  chain  grew  stronger, 

And  the  golden  links  more  bright, 
Which  bound  our  hearts  together, 

In  the  depths  of  sorrow's  night. 
And  now  they  are  most  sacred, 

For  in  sight  we  almost  stand, 
Of  death's  mysterious  river ; 

In  view  of  the  better  land. 
7* 


78  Twilight    Musings. 

We  are  walking  on  united, 

To  the  borders  of  the  flood 
Which  wafts  the  blessed  spirits 

To  the  bosom  of  their  God. 
O,  could  we  cross  together, 

With  the  Savior  for  our  guide, 
No  fears  could  e'er  alarm  us, 

'Mid  the  roaring  of  the  tide. 

But  long  we  can't  be  parted, 

For  the  sands  of  life  are  low ; 
And  though  the  first  to  Heaven, 

It  may  be,  that  you  may  go ; 
0,  sweet  will  be  our  greeting, 

When  we  reach  the  heavenly  shore  ; 
Beyond  the  swelling  billows, 

We  shall  meet,  to  part  no  more. 


"HIo%r,  is  Cob  grab?" 

In  a  chamber,  sat  forlorn, 
Widowed  wife,  with  anguish  torn; 
On  her  brow  were  written  there, 
Naught  but  lines  of  dark  despair. 
Near  the  mother  stood  her  child, 
Gazing  on  her  sorrow  wild; 
Simple  were  the  words  he  said, 
"  Mother  dear,  is  God,  too,  dead  V 


Twilight   Musings.  79 

Like  an  arrow  firmly  bent, 
These  few  words  conviction  sent : 
Up  to  Heaven  she  raised  her  eye, 
"  Xo,  my  child,  God  cannot  die." 
Soothing  tears  her  spirit  poured 
O'er  her  artless  monitor  : 
"SVarin  the  sweet  affections  gushed, 
As  her  murmurs  all  were  hushed. 

Resignation  stooped  to  press 
On  her  cheek  a  mild  caress, 
Bade  her  dark  repinings  cease, 
Filled  her  soul  with  heavenly  peace. 
One  more  glance  toward  the  grave, 
One  more  bow  'neath  sorrow's  wave ; 
Then  the  little  hand  she  pressed, 
Laid  it  on  her  aching  breast. 

One  more  prayer  to  Heav'n  was  sent, 
Then  to  duty  forth  she  went ; 
Calm  and  peaceful  was  her  mien, 
Walking  in  her  faith  serene, 
Meekly  treading  in  the  road, 
Which  would  lead  her  home  to  God. 
Living,  praying  for  the  boy, 
Hence  would  be  her  blest  employ. 


80  Twilight   Musings. 


To  a  happy  household, 

Death's  sad  message  came; 
And  from  out  the  circle, 

Took  a  little  lamb. 
'Twas  a  precious  darling, 

A  fond  mother's  pride ; 
Yet  too  soon  it  vanished 

From  her  loving  side. 

Said  a  little  brother, 

With  sad  feelings  moved  : 
"Who  will  tend  the  baby, 

With  a  mother's  love?" 
"After  his  long  journey, 

(Then  he  sadly  sighed,) 
Who  will  take  the  baby, 

On  the  other  side  ?" 

Angels  will  conduct  it, 

Safely  all  the  way, 
Till  it  reach  the  mansions 

Of  eternal  day. 
Stands  the  blessed  Jesus 

Near  the  swelling  tide ; 
He  will  take  our  darling, 

On  the  other  side. 

There  's  no  scorching  fever, 
There  's  no  chilling  breath, 


Twilight   Musings.  81 

There  no  nights  of  anguish, 

There  no  tears,  no  death, 
There  no  angry  passions, 

There  no  naughty  pride ; 
Sin  can  never  reach  him, 

On  the  other  side. 

There  are  palms  of  victory, 

There  are  harps  of  gold, 
There  are  joys  so  perfect, 

As  can  ne'er  be  told. 
There  we  leave  our  darling, 

Blest  and  purified ; 
Safe  in  Jesus'  bosom, 

On  the  other  side. 

When,  our  warfare  over, 

We  arrive  at  home, 
And  beyond  the  Jordan, 

We  have  safely  come. 
Brought  at  last  to  Heaven, 

By  the  crucified, 
We  shall  meet  our  Willy 

On  the  other  side. 


C|f  fast  of  tjje  Jioustjjolb. 

There  stood  'mid  this  desert 
Of  earth's  fleeting  scenes, 


82  Twilight   Musings. 

A  blooming  oasis, 

All  lovely  and  green  ; 

'Twas  the  home  of  affection, 
Where  heart  joined  to  heart, 

In  acts  of  endearment, 
Each  bearing  a  part. 

But  alas  !  to  this  household 

The  spoiler  has  come, 
To  mar  its  soft  beauty, 

And  darken  this  home. 
For  blightings  have  entered 

With  poisonous  breath, 
And  a  dark  cloud  hangs  over, 

'Tis  the  shadow  of  death. 

He  breathed  'mid  the  circle, 

And  ah  !  sad  to  tell, 
That  both  father  and  mother 

'Neath  the  blight  quickly  fell. 
Two  sisters,  one  brother, — 

So  cherished,  so  dear, 
Soon  followed  the  lost  ones ; 

Only  one  lingered  here. 

Like  the  last  leaf  of  autumn, 

All  blighted  and  lone, 
As  trembling  it  flutters, 

To  the  winds  plaintive  moan  ; 
Till  a  chill  blast  comes  sweeping, 

'Mid  the  forest  so  drear; 
And  the  last  leaf  lies  prostrate, 

All  withered  and  sere. 


Twilight   Musings.  83 

And  like  a  fair  flower 

To  the  tempest  she  bends, 
When  it  rages  around  her, 

But  chastened  ascends. 
When  the  pure  light  of  Heaven 

Beams  brightly  once  more ; 
She  rises  in  meekness 

More  blest  than  before. 

She  sat  mid  her  dwelling, 

All  weeping  and  lone, 
For  her  heart's  dearest  treasures 

From  her  bosom  had  gone. 
She  stood  'niid  its  chambers, 

But  silence  was  there ; 
No  tones  of  affection, 

Fell  sweet  on  her  ear. 

'Twas  the  last  of  the  household, 

A  poor,  stricken  deer ; 
But  she  found  a  blest  shelter, 

For  Jesus  was  near. 
To  bind  up  her  sorrows, 

The  Savior  has  come, 
And  kindly,  and  gently 

Has  taken  her  home. 


firing  %tm. 

Bring  tears,  there  is  a  healiug  balm, 
A  sweetly  soothing  power, 


84  Twilight   Musings. 

In  every  pearly  drop  that  flows, 
'Mid  sorrow's  darkest  hour. 

Tears  for  the  stricken  mourner's  heart, 
When  God,  with  faithful  love 

Recalls  the  loved  ones  He  has  given, 
And  garners  them  above. 

Not  tears  of  deep,  rebellious  pride, 

Which  harden  as  they  flow ; 
But  chastened,  sweet,  and  sacred  drops, 

Bringing  the  spirit  low. 
Tears  such  as  dimmed  the  Savior's  eye, 

As  bending  o'er  the  tomb 
Of  one  he  loved,  when  back  to  earth, 

He  bade  the  spirit  come. 

Bring  tears  to  penitential  hearts 

When  freely,  all  forgiven, 
They  melt  beneath  redeeming  love, 

And  taste  the  joys  of  Heaven. 
Give  mirthful  smiles  to  worldly  hearts, 

Who  waste  life's  fleeting  years; 
But  give  to  me,  the  soothing  balm 

Of  sanctifying  tears. 

'Tis  sweeter  far,  with  Christ  to  mourn, 

Than  careless  to  rejoice 
With  those,  who  scorn  His  bleeding  cross, 

Who  never  heed  His  voice. 
Then  let  the  giddy  sons  of  earth 

Banish  their  guilty  fears; 
Give,  give  to  me,  the  sacred  joy 

Of  grateful,  holy  tears. 


Twilioiit  M us i.n os.  85 


lljc  (Closing  gor. 

Another  year  has  passed  away, 

And  we  on  earth  remain; 
But  who  can  say,  on  such  a  day, 

We  e'er  shall  meet  again  ? 
For  like  the  fading  of  a  flower, 

Or  bird  upon  the  wing, 
So  swiftly  speeds  each  fleeting  hour, 

So  fades  our  life's  young  spring. 

Like  to  the  flowing  of  the  tide, 

Like  to  the  shooting  star, 
Or  like  all  transient  things  beside, 

Our  waning  moments  are. 
The  flower  fades  before  'tis  noon, 

The  bird  is  quickly  gone, 
The  meteor's  flash  must  vanish  soon, 

The  flowing  tide  rolls  on. 

Thus  while  our  mortal  life  decays, 

Eternity  steals  on  : 
O !  let  us  now  in  youth's  bright  day, 

Secure  a  heavenly  crown. 
Voices  come  calling  from  the  skies, 

Bidding  us  quickly  come, 
And  hasten  to  secure  a  prize, 

In  Jesus'  blessed  home. 

Beset  with  dangers  all  around, 
Jesus,  to  thee  we  come, 


I 


86  Twilight   Musings. 

Cause  us  to  heed  the  gracious  sound, 
Conduct  thy  wand'rers  home. 

O  !  breathe  upon  our  every  heart, 
The  spirit  of  thy  love ; 

Then  joyful  we  from  earth  shall  part, 
To  dwell  with  thee  above. 


%\t  Ularaiiian  $e<pram. 

It  is  customary  among  the  Moravians,  at  Bethlehem,  to  announce  the 
departure  of  a  member  of  the  community,  from  the  steeple  of  the  church 
adjoining  the  cemetery,  by  three  most  delicious  strains  of  wild  and  plaintive 
melody  on  the  trombones.  The  middle  stanzas  always  designates  the  age 
and  sex  of  the  individual.  I  heard  it  for  the  first  time  at  sunset,  in  the 
cemetery,  unexpectedly ;  the  effect  was  indescribable ;  the  custom  is  beau- 
tiful, sweetly  expressive  of  brotherhood,  whereby  the  family  is  made  ac- 
quainted with  the  departure  of  one  of  its  members. 

At  twilight  hour,  when  memory's  power 
Wakes  up  the  visions  of  the  buried  past, 

From  earth  retreating,  soft  silence  greeting, 
I  wandered,  where  the  weary  rest  at  last. 

The  sun  retiring,  sad  thoughts  inspiring, 
I  mused  in  solemn  silence,  'mid  the  dead ; 

When  softly  stealing,  death's  call  revealing, 

Sounds  of  low  wailing  from  the  tower  were  sped. 

First  faintly  swelling,  the  tidings  telling, 
In  notes  of  piercing  anguish,  one  has  gone ; 

We've  lost  another,  a  youthful  brother ; 
Mourn  for  a  home  bereft,  a  spirit  flown. 


Twilight   Musings.  87 

The  notes  of  anguish  first  seem  to  languish, 

Like  to  the  moanings  of  a  parting  sigh ; 
Then  raptured  swelling,  a  tale  they're  telling, 

Of  triumph  over  death,  of  victory. 

High  strains  ascending,  seem  to  be  blending 
With  angel  bands,  who  hover  near  the  scene ; 

They  speak  of  Heaven,  of  sins  forgiven, 
Of  everlasting  peace,  and  joy  serene. 

While  sadly  floating,  death's  doings  noting, 
Methinks  that  as  on  ev'ning  breeze  they  swell, 

'Mid  friends,  deep  sighing,  I  hear  the  dying 
Murmur. in  faintest  accents,  friends  farewell  ! 

Farewell !  my  mother  j  farewell  !  my  brother ; 

Farewell  !  my  partners  in  a  common  bond  : 
With  you  united,  one  faith  we  plighted  : 

No  more  we'll  meet  on  earth,  but  look  beyond. 

That  hand  is  bligfrted,  which  once  delighted, 

With  you,  to  waken  notes  of  melody, 
Then,  when  ye  gather,  think  of  the  brother 

Who  loved  to  meet  you  all,  in  harmony. 

A  harp  in  Heaven,  to  me  is  given ; 

And  as  its  strings,  my  hands  with  rapture  sweep, 
Its  strains  melodious,  while  floating  o'er  us, 

Send  out  no  notes  to  make  the  spirit  weep. 

Farewell  to  sorrow  !  I'll  wake  to-morrow, 
When  the  long  slumber  of  the  tomb  is  o'er : 

Then  rising  glorious,  o'er  death  victorious, 

We'll  meet,  we'll  meet,  where  partings  are  no  more. 


88  Twilight  Musings. 

Thus  wails  the  trombone,  and  as  each  low  tone, 
Breathes  a  sad  requiem  for  death's  frequent  calls, 

'Tis  sweet  to  render  this  tribute  tender, 
Whene'er  a  brother  from  among  ye  falls. 

Bethlehem  Cemetery,  July,  1850. 


%a  a  Jrtcnb  on  Cjristmas  gag. 


EVERGREEN   BRANCHES. 


Spring  has  departed,  and  summer  has  flown; 
Autumn  has  vanished,  and  winter  has  come ; 
Faded  the  flowers,  and  strewn  are  the  leaves, 
Keen  blows  the  wintry  blast  thro'  forest  trees. 
Yet  as  the  glories  of  autumn  depart,    A 
Evergreen  branches  still  gladden  our  hearts. 

Thus,  tho'  the  flowers  of  hope  fade  away; 

Thus,  tho'  the  joys  of  our  life  fast  decay; 

The  spring  of  the  heart,  still  remains  fresh  and  green, 

"While  the  far  distant  land  of  the  blessed  is  seen. 

Tho'  the  season  of  winter  be  cheerless  and  drear, 

Its  evergreen  branches  our  sad  spirits  cheer. 

With  a  branch  in  my  hand,  of  these  evergreen  boughs, 
I  would  stand  at  thy  door,  and  say,  "  Peace  to  thee"  now, 
'Tis  Christmas  !  bright  Christmas  !  Oh  heart-stirring  word  ! 
In  the  depths  of  each  bosom,  its  echo  is  heard, 


Twilight   Musings.  89 

Often  mingled  with  sadness,  as  loved  ones  decay, 
While  the  heart  sighs  in  sorrow  for  friends  far  away. 

Tho'  an  evergreen  bough,  yet  the  cypress  is  seen, 

Mingling  its  dark  leaves  with  living  green; 

It  tokens  bereavement,  it  bends  o'er  the  tomb, 

But  it  speaks  of  a  spirit,  forever  at  home. 

And  the  bright  Christmas  branches,  with  which  it  is  twined, 

Are  emblems  most  fitting,  of  his  faith  and  thine. 

Then,  tho'  from  the  circle,  which  girdles  thy  home, 

A  loved  one  is  missing,  who  never  can  come 

To  gladden  thee  here,  yet  him  thou  shalt  see, 

When  safe  over  Jordan,  thy  spirit  is  free. 

Then,  still  may  I  wish  thee,  a  Christmas  most  blest, 

While  pressing  on  daily  to  that  heavenly  rest. 


Ik  Cuftnfi  JUL 

In  the  dark  prison's  cell, 
Where  malefactors  dwell, 
Near  to  the  verge  of  hell, 

In  mute  despair; 
Guilt  on  that  hardened  brow, 
Sits  as  a  monarch  now, 
Crouched  down  in  sullen  woe, 

Behold  one  there ! 
8* 


90  Twilight   Musings. 

One,  whom  a  mother  weeps, 
In  silent  anguish  deep, 
While  others  calmly  sleep 

Through  midnight  hours. 
Shall  we  in  bitter  scorn 
Turn  from  the  wretch  forlorn, 
Leaving  him  all  alone 

In  darkness'  power? 

No — like  the  woman  blest,* 
Who,  with  heroic  breast,; 
Sought  by  love's  tenderness, 

Souls  to  reclaim. 
Or  like  to  Jesus,  when 
'Mong  proud  and  haughty  men 
Blessed  e'en  a  Magdalen 

Bowed  down  in  shame. 

Let  us,  with  kindly  hand, 
'Mong  the  forsaken  stand, 
And  by  love's  wond'rous  wand, 

Lift  them  above 
All  that  had  maddened  them, 
All  that  had  saddened  them ; 
Teach  them,  they  still  are  men, 

Won  back  by  love. 

Show  them,  there  is  a  road, 
Back  to  a  gracious  God, 
Where  they  may  leave  the  load, 
Of  pardoned  sin. 

*Mrs.  Fry. 


Twilight   Musings.  91 

Kindness  will  melt  the  rock, 
Which  firm  against  the  shock, 
Can  dare  the  dungeon's  lock, 
Or  jailer  grim. 

Kindness  hath  melted  down 
Natures  as  hard  as  stone; 
Tears  gushing  fast,  have  flown 

Down  savage  cheeks, 
When  the  deep  fountain  stirr'd 
By  a  kind,  loving  word,  • 

In  the  heart,  has  been  heard 

Sin's  chains  to  break. 


Mem'ry  lingers,  mem'ry  lingers 

Round  my  childhood's  early  home  : 
Beck'ning  with  impressive  fingers, 

As  its  household  spirits  come. 
There  I  see  a  sainted  mother 

Smiling  on  me  as  of  yore ; 
There  a  dear  and  cherished  brother, 

Gone  from  earth  forevermore. 

Summer  gath'rings  in  the  wild  wood; 

Sportings  on  the  village  green, 
Thoughtless  joys  of  early  childhood, 

Oh  !  how  fresh,  and  pure,  and  green. 


92  Twilight  Musings. 

Birthday  presents  fondly  cherished, 

Tokens  of  the  tender  love, 
Which  from  earth,  alas  !  has  perished, 

Leaving  me  alone  to  rove. 

Christmas  greetings!  Christmas  greetings! 

With  its  eve  so  full  of  joy, 
New  Year's  days  of  happy  meeting; 

Bliss  almost  without  alloy  ! 
Now,  the  hands  once  fondly  pressing 
#      Mine,  in  grasps  of  fervent  love; 
Eyes  that  smiled,  and  lips  caressing, 

Silent  lie,  in  dust  unmoved. 

Now,  the  old-mill  is  deserted, 

Where  amid  its  shallow  stream, 
Merry  peals  of  the  light-hearted, 

Fill'd  the  air  with  shout  and  scream. 
Running  barefoot,  heads  uncovered, 

Up  and  down  the  creek  we  chased, 
Near  us,  sprites  of  mischief  hovered, 

Gleaming  in  each  sportive  face : 

Then  the  dashing,  then  the  dashing/ 

Of  the  water  from  the  race, 
Sang  and  danced,  as  it  came  plashing, 

With  a  merry  sportive  pace. 
Now,  the  water  falling  slowly, 

Though  it  is  the  very  same, 
Seems  to  moan  in  dirges  lowly, 

Murmuring  departed  names. 

Youthful  visions!  youthful  visions  ! 
How  they  throng  around  me  now  ! 


Twilight   Musings.  93 

"When  the  world  seemed  all  Elysian, 

Arched  by  hope's  celestial  bow. 
Young  affections,  early  blighted, 

All  its  tendrils  severed  wide ; 
Turned  to  Heav'n,  and  close  united, 

Clasped  a  Savior's  bleeding  side. 


folje  Raster's  Cnrfoit. 

There  is  a  crown  of  dazzling  light, 

Reserved  above  for  those 
Who,  clad  in  Heaven's  panoply, 

Have  vanquished  all  their  foes. 
Who  scorning  earth's  most  tempting  joys, 

Have  counted  all  but  loss ; 
And  with  a  high  and  holy  aim, 

Have  gloried  in  the  cross. 

Bright  hopes  are  theirs,  and  holy  joys 

Mysterious,  solemn,  sweet : 
Could  e'er  a  mortal  tongue  attempt 

Such  rapture  to  repeat  ? 
'Tis  such  as  fills  an  angel's  heart 

When  bending  'neath  the  throne, 
He  views  the  rivers  of  delight, 

And  calls  them  all  his  own. 

How  stoops  the  soul  to  grovelling  joys, 
Who  once  on  eagle's  wings 


94  Twilight   Musings. 

Of  faith  and  love,  has  mounted  up, 

Above  terrestrial  things : 
Can  such  a  heaven-born  spirit  e'er 

Forget  the  boundless  love 
Which  sought  him  wandering,  found  him  lost, 

And  fixed  his  hopes  above. 

Ah  !  no — a  pilgrim's  lot  is  his, 

The  world  beneath  his  feet ; 
Heaven  in  his  eye,  Christ  in  his  heart, 

Make  all  his  crosses  sweet. 
Following  where  his  Master  led, 

A  shepherd  he  becomes, 
And  'mid  the  howling  wilderness, 

He  brings  poor  wanderers  home. 

He  watches  with  untiring  zeal, 

And  weeps  in  earnest  prayer; 
When  others  sleep,  he  troubled  wakes 

Oppressed  with  anxious  care. 
Tho'  sinners  scorn  his  warning  voice, 

And  still  refuse  to  hear, 
He  watches  still,  and  prays,  and  strives, 

Nor  can  his  soul  forbear. 

And  when  at  last,  subdued  by  grace, 

One  wanderer  returns, 
What  grateful  praises  fill  his  heart ! 

What  joy  within  him  burns  ! 
One  star  for  his  victorious  crown, 

One  ransomed  soul  from  sin, 
Who  would  not  leave  a  natt'ring  world, 

Such  heavenly  joy  to  win  ? 


Twilight  Musings.  95 

His  holy  work  he  still  pursues, 

As  through  the  world  he  roams, 
And  to  a  Savior's  outstretched  arms, 

He  bids  the  weary  come. 
Meekly  amid  a  thoughtless  crowd, 

His  heavenly  way  he  speeds ; 
Spending  a  life  of  toil  on  earth, 

In  high,  and  holy  deeds. 

At  last,  a  welcome  friend  to  him, 

Behold  the  bridegroom  comes  j 
Bidding  him  lay  his  armor  down, 

And  gently  takes  him  home. 
Not  with  a  startling  brow  of  fear, 

Nor  with  a  threat' ning  voice, 
But  as  a  messenger  of  love, 

To  bid  his  soul  rejoice. 

He  comes  to  still  his  beating  heart, 

So  oft  by  anguish  riven, 
To  close  on  earth,  his  weeping  eyes, 

And  bid  them  wake  in  Heaven. 
To  shut  out  sights,  and  sounds  of  sin, 

To  bring  the  weary  rest, 
And  place  his  disembodied  soul, 

In  mansions  of  the  blest. 

He  sleeps  in  Jesus :  angels  watch 

Above  his  lowly  dust; 
While  ages  roll,  and  swiftly  come 

The  triumphs  of  the  just. 
The  trumpet  sounds,  the  dead  arise, 

And  'mid  the  crowd  appears 


96  Twilight   Musings. 

The  faithful  pastor's  radiant  face, 
No  more  bedewed  with  tears. 

The  martyrs'  noble  army  there, 

With  holy  prophets  throng  : 
Apostles,  and  triumphant  saints, 

All  swell  the  blissful  song. 
On  earth,  they  meekly  bore  the  cross, 

But  now,  a  crown  is  given ; 
Through  tribulation  it  was  won, 

But  all  is  peace  in  Heaven. 

It  is  a  crown  of  dazzling  light ; 

'Twill  grace  the  honored  brow 
Of  him,  who  faithful  to  his  trust, 

Has  kept  his  holy  vow. 
'Twill  brighter  shine,  when  sun  and  stars, 

Have  fled  from  Heav'n  away, 
For  souls  redeemed,  shall  deck  it  o'er, 

With  a  celestial  ray. 

The  Pastor's  crown ! — what  priceless  gems, 

Triumphant  he  shall  wear; 
Of  wanderers  saved  from  death  and  sin, 

And  placed  by  Jesus  there. 
'Mid  the  bright  gems,  one  star  is  seen, 

'Tis  one,  who  early  taught 
The  sweetness  of  a  Savior's  love, 

His  all  to  Jesus  brought. 

In  distant  climes,  his  weary  feet 

Traversed  the  desert  o'er, 
To  tell  of  Christ  to  heathen  souls, 

And  bid  them  rove  no  more 


Twilight    Musings.  07 

On  burning  sands,  he  laid  him  down 

In  weariness  to  die ; 
His  dust  reposes  far  from  home, 

His  record  is  on  high. 

Another,  sunk  in  lowest  depths 

Of  sin's  polluting  snare, 
But  sought,  and  found  by  wond'rous  grace, 

Shines  bright  in  glory  there. 
These  are  the  stars,  which  deck  the  crown 

Of  glory,  he  shall  win, 
"Who  gains  for  others,  and  himself, 

High  conquest  over  sin. 

When  those  of  earth,  have  crumbled  all 

To  dust,  and  passed  away; 
This  brilliant  gem  forever  shines, 

In  realms  of  endless  day. 
Who  would  not  win  this  diadem 

Of  life,  and  light,  and  peace? 
Who  would  not  press  to  gain  a  prize 

Whose  glory  ne'er  shall  cease  ? 


lilir  Jfatoriit  (flatten. 

I  saw  a  blooming  garden 
In  this  desert  world  of  ours, 

Decked  with  luxuriant  clusters, 
Of  bursting  buds,  and  flowers. 


98  Twilight   Musings. 

The  neat  and  beauteous  order, 
The  plants  so  fresh  and  green, 

Told  that  a  hand  of  skill  was  there, 
Pervading  all  the  scene. 

The  sunbeams  shed  their  brightness, 

The  rain  in  gentle  showers 
Distilled  its  cool  refreshing  drops, 

On  all  the  opening  flowers. 
But  'mid  these  plants  so  favored, 

Some  drooped,  and  pined,  and  died ; 
And  oft  would  drop  their  blossoms, 

All  withered,  side  by  side. 

And  some  would  bear  no  blossoms, 

No  buds  of  beauty  wear ; 
And  marks  of  sad  disorder 

Told  that  a  foe  was  there ; 
"Who,  when  no  eye  beheld  him, 

With  stealthy  steps  drew  near, 
And  creeping  round  the  tender  roots, 

Would  fix  his  poison  there. 

And  oft,  at  quiet  evening 

With  skillful  careful  hand, 
Amid  his  group  of  cherished  plants, 

The  gardener  would  stand. 
The  drooping  plants,  he'd  bind  afresh, 

Where'er  a  bud  was  found; 
But  barren  ones  he  rooted  up, 

As  cumb'rers  of  the  ground. 

Oft,  when  he  viewed  a  blooming  flower, 
With  looks  of  pitying  love, 


Twilight    Musings.  00 

He  gently  moved  it  from  the  earth, 

And  planted  it  above. 
But  not  till  kind  and  gracious  hands 

Had  pruned  each  branch  with  care, 
Till  ripe  for  Heaven,  each  bud  would  burst 

In  full  luxuriance  there. 

The  garden,  is  my  tender  group 

Of  beings,  young  and  fair, 
The  plants,  my  loved  and  cherished  ones, 

Whom,  on  my  heart  I  bear. 
The  sunbeams  are  those  rays  of  light, 

Which  in  the  days  of  youth, 
So  freely  shine  on  all  alike, 

Pointing  to  paths  of  truth. 

The  plants  so  frail  and  drooping, 

Are  children  briefly  given, 
But  early  plucked  by  Jesus'  hands, 

Are  garnered  up  in  Heaven. 
The  barren  plants  so  fruitless, 

Are  those,  who  born  in  sin, 
Can  bear  no  buds  of  beauty, 

Till  they  are  pure  within. 

The  foe,  so  slyly  creeping, 

Is  sin,  and  Satan's  power, 
Who  taints  the  roots  in  darkness, 

And  blights  the  fairest  flower. 
But  who  so  kind  and  gracious, 

Does  the  plants  so  wisely  tend  ? 
'Tis  the  blest,  the  holy  Savior, 

'Tis  the  dying  sinner's  friend. 


100  Twilight   Musings. 

And  when  He  comes  at  evening 

Amid  this  group  to  stand, 
What  are  the  fruits  He  seeks  for, 

At  each  young  being's  hand  ? 
He  seeks  for  contrite  sorrow, 

For  having  grieved  the  Lord ; 
He  seeks  for  faith,  receiving 

A  Savior's  gracious  word. 

He  looks  for  sweet  submission, 

For  gentleness  and  love ; 
A  heart  to  Him  devoted, 

Who  dwells  in  light  above. 
And  when  from  earth  He  calls  us, 

And  we  His  throne  surround, 
Teacher  and  taught  united, 

May  we  at  last  be  found. 


©me  JfrtcbmiL 

Freedom  !  Oh  !  'tis  a  sound 

To  stir  the  inmost  soul 
Of  the  captive  slave,  in  fetters  bound 

Let  it  sound  from  pole  to  pole. 
Like  to  the  pebble  thrown 

Into  the  briny  sea ; 
Whose  circling  waves  still  follow  on 

Too  far  for  eye  to  see. 


Twilight    Musings.  101 

So  let  the  echo  fly, 

With  voice  of  mighty  power 
Throughout  the  arches  of  the  sky, 

Till  it  reach  from  shore  to  shore. 
Here  in  our  native  land, 

"We  chant  her  natal  strain, 
For  she  was  born  on  our  rocky  coast, 

And  cradled  by  noble  men. 

Her  infancy  was  long  : 

Those  nurses  stern  and  rude, 
Tho'  they  loved  the  child,  yet  their  rigid  sway 

Her  bounding  youth  subdued. 
The  freedom  of  her  step, 

They  sought  to  tame  by  rule ; 
But  the  child  was  free,  and  soon  escaped 

From  her  childhood's  early  school. 

Oppression's  foreign  hand, 

Was  laid  on  her  in  vain ; 
Sudden  she  sprang  to  form  mature, 

And  burst  her  iron  chain. 
She  stood  among  us  then, 

In  majesty  sublime; 
Her  eye  flashed  fire,  and  her  step  was  firm, 

She  was  made  for  stormy  times. 

Her  voice  was  loud  and  clear, 

It  spoke  in  trumpet  tones, 
It  startled  all  ranks  of  our  countrymen ; 

It  roused  a  Washington. 
Her  peals  are  echoing  round, 

With  tones  as  clarion's  shrill; 
9* 


102  Twilight   Musings. 

From  the  mountain-top,  and  the  shady  vale, 
They  are  heard  from  hill  to  hill. 

The  despot  hears  her  voice, 

And  he  trembles  on  his  throne  : 
He  summons  forth  all  his  martial  bands, 

But  her  pealing  notes  roll  on. 
Thrones  totter,  monarchs  fall, 

Their  crowns  roll  in  the  dust, 
And  they  fly  before  the  people's  might, 

As  every  tyrant  must. 

She  was  heard  'mid  Alpine  snows, 

And  despotism  fell, 
When  her  stirring  notes,  as  they  echoed  far, 

Waked  up  a  William  Tell. 
She  has  knocked  at  prison  doors,* 

And  their  iron  bolts  gave  way, 
To  bid  the  fettered  ones  go  forth, 

To  the  light  of  freedom's  day. 

She  has  reached  the  monarch's  thronef 

By  forts  encircled  round, 
In  a  few  short  hours  this  boasting  one, 

Was  a  helpless  exile  found. 
Proud  Austria  fears  her  voice, 

And  girds  her  armor  on ; 
Her  peals  are  heard  on  the  Tiber's  waves ; 

She  has  roused  e'en  Papal  Rome. 

Rome  !  Rome  !  thy  crushing  power, 
Freedom  in  vain  would  bind, 

*  The  Bastile.  f  Louis  Phillipe. 


Twilight    Musings.  ]  03 

For  her  voice  is  beard  in  the  Vatican, 

She  has  woke  the  sleeping  mind. 
Light  for  the  Emerald  Isle, 

Let  Ireland  now  go  free ; 
The  nations  all  demand  their  right, 

The  right  of  liberty. 

The  eagle  builds  her  nest, 

Olid  rocks  by  tempests  driven; 
Her  home  is  on  the  loftiest  peak ; 

She  dwells  the  nearest  Heaven. 
So  Freedom  really  known 

To  be  a  lasting  good, 
Must  bind  the  soul  in  willing  bonds 

Fast  to  the  throne  of  God. 

For  he's  a  sin-bound  slave, 

Who  spurns  at  righteous  law, 
And  he  alone  is  truly  free, 

Who  bows  with  holy  awe 
Before  Jehovah's  name, 

His  is  true  liberty — 
He's  a  true  freeman,  he  alone 

Whom  Jesus  Christ  makes  free. 

Spuming  at  man's  control 

Base  counterfeits  there  are ; 
Fierce  anarchy  is  one  fearful  name, 

She  rides  in  a  bloody  car. 
Where'er  she  steps  her  foot 

She  spreads  the  pall  of  night, 
And  freedom  with  disdainful  mien, 

From  scenes  like  these  takes  flight. 


104  Twilight    Musings. 

When  in  her  strong  right  hand 

She  holds  the  book  divine, 
With  open  page  for  all  to  read, 

This,  this  will  free  the  mind. 
'Twill  free  the  slave  of  sin, — 

' Twill  crush  oppression's  rod, 
And  bid  the  nations  of  the  earth, 

Gro  forth  to  serve  their  God. 

Dark  spirits  then  will  fly 

Down  to  their  deep  tibode, 
When  they  gaze  upon  a  ransomed  world, 

Brought  back  in  love  to  Grod. 
Then  peace  will  swift  descend 

Down  to  this  earth  again  ; 
This  will  be  liberty  indeed, 

When  Jesus  comes  to  rei^n. 


|  am  Witixq. 

The  flowers  of  youth  have  fled, 
Its  chaplets  all  are  dead ; 
Wither' d  beneath  my  eye, 
Its  faded  blossoms  lie, 

So  sad  and  dreary ; 
While  mem'ry  hovers  nigh, 
My  inmost  heart  replies, 

That  I  am  weary. 


Twilight    Musings.  105 

Once  sailed  my  bark  along 
Life's  joyous  stream  with  song, 
A  long  long  time  ago, 
Its  rippling  waters  flowed, 

So  bright  and  cheery. 
But  now  its  waves  dash  high, 
And  I  can  only  cry 

That  I  am  weary. 

Once  air,  and  earth,  and  sky, 

Were  tinged  with  hope's  bright  dye; 

And  its  celestial  bow 

Arched  with  its  hallowed  glow, 

Scenes  now  so  dreary. 
Vanished  those  brilliant  hues ; 
With  folded  hands,  I  muse, 

For  I  am  weary. 

Now  naught  but  plaintive  notes 
Around  my  dwelling  floats ; 
For  song  of  merry  birds, 
No  more  is  gladly  heard, 

Warbling  so  clearly. 
The  days  of  joy  are  gone, 
The  ev'ning  shades  draw  on, 

And  I  am  weary. 

Now  autumn  tints  appear, 
Sadd'ning  the  passing  year; 
The  sighing  mournful  breeze, 
Seems  wailing  thro'  the  trees, 
So  sad  and  dreary. 


106  Twilight    Musings. 

Now  of  this  bitter  strife 
With  sin,  and  mortal  life, 
Alas !  Fm  weary. 

Oppressed  by  cruel  hands 
Of  woman  crushing  man, 
Bowed  down  with  earthy  care, 
No  refuge  now,  but  prayer 

0  Savior,  hear  me  ! 
For  thou  hast  felt  the  woe 
Of  the  world's  with' ring  blow, 

When  thou  wert  weary. 

Far  spent  life's  dreary  night, 
Bursteth  the  morning  light, 
When  flowers  bloom  again, 
When  youth  returns,  Oh  !  then 

How  blest  and  cheery  ! 
Then  to  behold  once  more, 
Friends  who  have  gone  before, 

Where  none  are  weary. 

There  streams  immortal  flow, — 
There  peaceful  breezes  blow  : 
0  !  for  swift  wings  to  soar 
Where  sin  can  come  no  more, 

So  dark  and  dreary. 
There  on  the  heavenly  plains, 
There  safely  yet  remains, 

Rest  for  the  weary. 


Twilight   Musi.n  107 


iifjc  Cljristiait  (Sratw  tymma&to, 

rnnnrcK,  faith,  hope  and  love. 

Methought  I  dreamed  a  holy  dream, 

Its  light  is  round  me  still : 
Oh  !  that  the  teachings  of  that  hour 

Would  all  my  bosom  fill. 
I  just  had  heard  the  Spirit's  voice 

Thro'  the  Almighty  word, 
Portray  the  fruits  which  all  produce, 

Who  truly  love  the  Lord. 

Methought  I  saw  in  sorrow  bowed, 

"With  tearful,  downcast  eyes, 
A  form  with  human  lineaments, 

Passing  me  sadly  by. 
Figures  of  former  friends  drew  near, 

With  thoughtless  giddy  air; 
She  heeded  not  their  mocking  tones ; 

Her  lips  were  moved  in  prayer. 

'Twas  Penitence,  I  knew  her  voice, 

Sighing  in  accents  low, 
"  Where  shall  my  burdened  soul  find  rest, 

Ah  !  whither  shall  I  go  V 
And  yet  there  seemed  about  her  face, 

A  struggling,  glimmering  ray, 
Just  like  the  first  beams  of  the  sun, 

When  storms  have  passed  away. 


108  Twilight    Musings. 

Sudden  my  fancy  carried  me, 

Ear  from  my  native  shore, 
To  where  the  tempest-demon  howls, 

With  voice  of  awful  power. 
And  'mid  the  ocean,  on  a  rock, 

A  female  form  is  seen, 
Erect  with  graceful  dignity, 

And  aspect  all  serene. 

She  clasps  the  cross ;  her  lifted  eye 

Betrays  no  secret  fear : 
Tho'  stormy  tempests  rage  around, 

She  feels  that  Glod  is  near. 
The  thunders  roar,  the  lightnings  flash, 

Her  garments  wildly  fly; 
I  look  in  vain  for  quailing  fear, 

In  Faith's  uplifted  eye. 

Again  I  looked,  and  near  me  stood 

A  form  of  beauteous  mien, 
With  waving  hair,  and  smiling  eyes, 

A  very  sylph  she  seemed. 
Her  flowing  robe  of  azure  hue, 

Her  rosy  lip  and  cheek, 
Her  buoyant  step  of  airy  grace, 

Her  title  seemed  to  speak. 

Around  her  bloomed  earth's  fairest  flowers, 

Behind  her,  sorrow's  train  j 
And  yet  no  look  she  cast  on  earth, 

Nor  thought  on  vanished  pain. 
'Twas  Hope,  the  bright  and  lofty  smile 

Which  lit  her  beaming  eyes, 


Twilight    Musings.  109 

Was  upward  turned,  and  her  steady  gaze 
Was  fastened  on  the  skies. 

Another  form  of  grace  drew  near, 

A  meek-eyed,  pitying  one ; 
The  accents  of  a  loving  voice, 

Murmured  in  every  tone. 
Her  look  was  one  of  gentleness, 

Her  eye  was  soft  and  mild ; 
She'd  smiles  for  joy,  and  tears  for  woe, 

And  pity  for  a  child. 

I  saw  her  pass  a  palace  by, 

Where  mirth  and  revel  reigned, 
To  stop  at  misery's  cottage  door, 

And  smooth  a  bed  of  pain. 
I  saw  her  knock  at  prison  doors, 

With  a  kind  angel  hand  ; 
Bent  on  her  high  and  holy  way, 

'Mid  vice  undaunted  stand. 

I  saw  her  watch  the  pale  stars  out 

To  sooth  a  dying  bed, 
And  with  the  touch  of  tenderness, 

To  raise  the  drooping  head. 
I  saw  her  leave  the  giddy  throng 

In  life's  bright,  joyous  day, 
To  lead  the  footsteps  of  the  young, 

From  error's  path  away. 

Over  an  erring  brother's  faults, 
I  saw  her  cast  a  veil : 
10 


110  Twilight    Musings. 

I  heard  her  check  the  slimy  tongue, 
Which  whispered  scandal's  tale. 

When  sinners  foamed,  she  fretted  not, 
Nor  envied  other's  lot; 

Nor,  filled  with  pride  and  selfishness, 
Her  mission  e'er  forgot. 

All  things  she  bore,  all  things  believed, 

And  in  her  simple  faith, 
All  things  she  hoped  for,  trusting  still 

To  what  her  Savior  saith. 
So  much  of  Heaven  was  in  her  mien, 

She  must  be  from  above  : 
On  earth  she  is  but  seldom  seen  : — 

Her  name  is  holy  Love. 

Methought  the  years  went  rolling  on, 

Like  those  beyond  the  flood ; 
Time  was  declared  to  be  no  more, 

And  we  in  judgment  stood. 
Yet  still  once  more,  I  saw  these  forms 

Like  shadows  come  again, 
Standing  in  waiting  silence  there, 

A  beauteous,  graceful  train. 

Methought,  I  gazed  on  Penitence ; 

More  shadowy  still  she  seemed  : 
Sin  being  now  forever  slain, 

She  vanished  like  a  dream. 
Hope,  too,  was  seen  to  fade  away, 

And  Faith  was  lost  to  sight; 
Tho'  handmaids  once,  to  guide  the  soul, 

She  needs  no  more  their  light. 


Twilight    Musings.  Ill 

But  holy  Love  !  what  do  I  see  ? 

A  halo  round  her  brow : 
A  shower  of  glory  bathes  her  o'er, 

As  she  stands  transfigured  now. 
And  from  her  form  two  silvery  wings, 

And  from  her  eyes  a  light, 
Which  flashes  immortality, 

Ere  she  to  Heaven  takes  flight. 

She  rises,  and  the  glorious  change 

Is  passed  on  every  one, 
Who  once  redeemed  by  Jesus'  blood, 

She  set  her  seal  upon. 
Thus  Faith  and  Hope  no  home  can  find, 

Where  all  is  fully  known  : 
Love  is  the  grace,  which  brings  the  saint 

Nearest  to  Heaven's  throne. 


ON   HIS   DEPARTURE   PROM   ST.   ANDREW'S  CHURCH,  APRIL   18,  1847. 

Farewell  !  and  are  we  severed  ? 

And  must  we  hear  no  more 
From  lips  familiar,  blessed  words 

Of  precious  truth  and  power  ? 
The  thronging  mem'ries  of  the  past 

Start  from  their  slumbering  cell  j 
And  silent  shadows  of  the  dead 

Seem  with  my  soul  to  dwell. 


112  Twilight  Musings. 

The  solemn  tread  of  muffled  feet 

Seems  falling  all  around ; 
And  music,  like  a  funeral  wail, 

Breathes  but  a  mournful  sound. 
The  days  gone  by  !  the  days  gone  by  ! 

Ah  !  how  they  come  !  they  come, 
Like  visions  of  funereal  trains 

Bearing  the  loved  ones  home. 

Stricken  of  God,  we  kissed  the  rod ; 

For  why  should  we  repine  ? 
Life's  labor  done,  and  glory  won, 

In  robes  of  light  they  shine. 
Yet  God  from  Heaven  stooped  down  to  hear 

Our  supplicating  cry : 
The  clouds  dispersed,  and  mercy  brought 

A  faithful  Shepherd  nigh. 

A  few  short  years  of  blessedness, 

And  peace  and  holy  joy ; 
St.  Andrew's  mourns — again  bereft; 

Sad  notes  our  songs  employ. 
Not  by  the  hand  of  death  removed 

To  rest  and  peace  in  Heaven : 
Or  then  we  could  in  faith  have  said, 

Take  what  thy  love  has  given. 

But  we  are  called  to  bid  thee  go 
"Where  friends  of  God  are  few; 

To  face  the  tempter  in  his  power : 
May  Jesus  guide  thee  through. 

In  hours  of  dark  and  deep  distress, 
May  He  forever  be 


Twilight    Musings.  113 

A  wall  of  fire,  thee  to  surround, 
In  blest  security. 

Can  we  forget  that  thou  hast  borne 

Our  lambs  to  Jesus'  feet ; 
And  lips  endeared  by  sacred  ties, 

Have  taught  them  to  repeat 
The  sacred  truths  of  Jesus' s  love, 

Till  touched  by  heavenly  truth, 
Their  spirits  'neath  the  cross  have  bowed, 

In  days  of  early  youth. 

Led  by  thy  gentle,  nursing  hand, 

How  often  thou  hast  stood 
'Mid  groups  of  youthful  converts, 

"Whom  thou  hast  led  to  God. 
Thy  voice  has  blessed  the  marriage-tie ; 

Thy  hand  has  broke  the  bread ; 
That  bread  of  everlasting  life, 

By  which  our  souls  are  fed. 

Thy  form  has  hovered  round  the  bed 

"Where  dying  friends  have  laid ; 
Thy  lips  have  whispered  comfort, 

When  kindly  thou  hast  prayed. 
Thou'st  stood  with  us  around  the  grave, 

When,  with  a  christian's  trust, 
Thy  lips  have  uttered  solemnly, 

The  thrilling  "  Dust  to  dust." 


We  know  not  now  why  thou  must  go : 
I 
10* 


In  Heaven  'twill  all  be  light : 


114  Twilight    Musings. 

Till  then,  we'll  trust  submissively, 

In  sorrow's  darkest  night. 
But  if  our  cries  can  aught  avail, 

Thy  flock  will  ever  pray 
That  Israel's  Grod  may  succor  thee 

In  every  trying  day. 

Then  think  of  us,  on  bended  knee, 

When  each  returning  eve 
Comes  weekly,  with  its  hallowed  hour, 

Bidding  our  spirits  leave 
The  busy  world,  its  thousand  cares, 

And  turn  our  footsteps  where 
So  oft  together  we  have  knelt, 

Before  the  throne  in  prayer. 

In  prayer — Oh  !  sweet  and  blessed  thought ! 

For  thus  a  pledge  is  given, 
That  those  who  love  a  throne  of  grace, 

Shall  meet  at  last,  in  Heaven  : 
Shall  meet,  where  partings  are  no  more  ; 

"Where  tears  are  wiped  away; 
And  where  the  lamb  shall  be  the  light 

Of  everlasting  day. 


%\t  §apfism  of  an  Infant. 

TO   THE    PARENTS   OP   ALETHEA.      MAY,  1849. 

Hush  !  'tis  a  solemn  hour,  and  gathered  round 
The  sacred  chancel,  stands  a  waiting  crowd  : 


Twilight  Musings.  115 

The  looks  expectant,  and  the  murmuring  sound 

Of  children,  as  they  almost  whisper  loud. 
The  white-robed  bishop,  and  the  snowy  font, 
Ready  another  lamb  'mid  Jesus'  fold  to  count. 

And  soon  amid  the  waiting  group  appears 

The  pastor,  as  a  father,  one  of  us ; 
The  mother,  with  a  gush  of  joyful  tears 

Bringing  their  infant,  with  firm  Christian  trust, 
To  Him,  who  said,  "  Let  little  children  come/' 
For  such  are  with  me,  in  my  heav'nly  home. 

And  now,  behold !  the  smiling  babe  draws  near, 
And  on  its  brow,  is  made  the  sacred  sign  : 

Baptized  in  Jordan's  waters,  pure  and  clear; 
Unconscious  babe  !  high  honors  now  are  thine. 

Oh,  holy  dove !  who  hovered  near  that  shore, 

Descend,  and  bless  this  infant  evermore. 

The  chirping  of  thy  touching,  bird-like  voice 
Speaks  of  the  happiness  that  reigns  within. 

What  know'st  thou  ?  sweet  one,  but  of  infant  joys, 
Alas !  that  thou  must  wake  to  woe  and  sin ; 

For  thou  art  woman,  and  her  lot  must  be 

To  watch  and  suffer,  till  from  earth  set  free. 

What  know'st  thou,  of  the  spirit's  inward  strife, 
Or  of  the  world  in  which  thy  body  dwells  ? 

All  that  rejoices  now  thy  infant  life 

Is,  that  thine  eye,  a  mother's  smile  can  tell. 

May  thy  young  heart,  in  love  forever  rest, 

In  sweet  affection,  on  a  mother's  breast. 


116  Twilight   Musings. 

But  thou  must  know,  by  inward  heartfelt  woe, 
That  all  thy  nature  is  denied  with  sin ; 

And  thou  must  share  the  lot  of  all  below, 
Ere  thou,  a  crown  of  endless  life  canst  win. 

In  the  first  dawn  of  feeling,  may'st  thou  know 

With  all  these  cares,  to  Jesus  thou  may'st  go. 

Then,  welcome  dear  one,  to  thy  Savior's  arms ! 

Thy  parents  bring  thee,  with  strong  Christian  faith : 
Once  safe  in  Jesus'  bosom,  free  from  harm, 

Sweet  are  the  words !  which  to  their  faith  he  saith  : 
Give  me  thy  loved  ones,  train  them  up  for  Heav'n, 
Only  believe — the  Spirit  will  be  given. 

We  know  not  what  thy  Savior  wills  for  thee : 
If  early  called,  thou  must  be  surely  blest ; 

But  if  thy  life  is  spared,  Oh  !  may  it  be 
All  for  thy  Savior  spent,  until  at  rest. 

Here  may  we  see  thy  youthful  figure  bow'd, 

When  round  this  chancel,  new-born  Christians  crowd. 

May'st  thou  be  spared,  thy  father's  home  to  bless : 
Thy  mother's  warm  affection  to  repay  : 

Thine  be  the  pious  spirit's  loveliness, 

Which  still  more  brightly  shines  from  day  to  day; 

And  when  below,  thy  earthly  race  is  run, 

May  thy  blest  household  meet  around  the  throne. 


Twilight  Musinqs.  117 


aratngs  for  %  %vms. 

IN   THE   DAWN  OF  TRACTARlANISJf,  1S44. 

Ox  life's  troubled  ocean,  how  many  a  bark 
Seems  tossing  and  rushing  along  in  the  dark ! 
No  beacon  to  light  them,  no  pilot  to  guide, 
How  swiftly  and  fearfully,  borne  by  the  tide, 

They  speed  to  their  ruin  :  the  tempest  comes  on  ; 
'Mid  darkness  and  gloom,  they  go  suddenly  down  ; 
Or  dashed  on  the  rocks,  they  as  fearfully  perish  : 
No  hope  'mid  the  wail  of  that  tempest,  they  cherish, 

But  oft,  'mid  the  gloom  of  the  terrible  night, 
The  bark  of  the  pilgrim,  surrounded  by  light 
Is  seen,  safely  riding  each  perilous  wave ; 
For  He,  who  is  mighty,  is  with  them  to  save. 

Our  life  is  an  ocean  of  tumult  at  best : 
Each  wave  bears  a  pilgrim  to  that  blessed  rest, 
Where  strife  never  enters : — the  weary,  at  home 
Are  landed  in  safety,  where  sin  never  comes. 

Temptations  and  sorrows  and  conflicts  with  sin, 
Ah  !  these  are  the  waves,  which  disturb  us  within ; 
And  these  are  the  tempests,  and  ours  is  the  bark : 
Beware,  lest  we  foolishly  steer  in  the  dark. 

The  bark  of  the  Christian  has  nothing  to  fear, 
False  pilots  would  hail  us,  but  let  us  beware ; 


118  Twilight    Musings. 

Their  chart  must  be  heav'nly,  for  man  cannot  guide 
The  bark  of  the  pilgrim  o'er  life's  troubled  tide. 

We  must  ask  of  each  pilot, — From  whence  do  ye  come  ? 
And  how  would  you  guide  us,  to  our  destined  home  ? 
Is  Glod's  blessed  volume  your  mariner's  chart  ? 
Is  Christ  your  commander  ?  if  not — then  depart. 

Depart !  for  we  know  you  are  false  to  your  Lord ; 
Tho'  old  your  directions,  we  know  from  his  word, 
That  man's  false  inventions  would  lead  us  astray; 
No  mere  human  pilot  shall  point  us  the  way. 

The  bark  is  the  church — false  pilots  are  near, 
When  Heav'n  's  the  haven,  beware  who  shall  steer  : 
Bring  all  their  pretensions  to  God's  holy  word, 
And  try  them,  and  prove  them,  before  they  are  heard. 

Should  they  point  you  to  priests,  or  to  sacrament's  pow'r, 
To  the  dust  of  antiquity's  mystical  lore, 
To  fasts,  or  to  penances,  or  aught  merely  human, 
Beware  how  you  trust,  e'en  their  priestly  acumen. 

Bring  all  to  the  touchstone  of  heavenly  truth ; 

And  then,  if  these  pilots  should  shrink  from  the  proof, 

Assert  but  the  freedom  that  Jesus  has  given, 

And  your  bark  may  in  safety  find  anchor  in  Heaven. 

For  Christ  is  our  captain — his  pilots  must  be 
Like  him,  from  all  craft  and  hypocrisy  free  : 
With  him  for  our  leader,  ah  !  be  of  good  cheer, 
Tho'  hosts  should  assail  us,  we've  nothing  to  fear. 


Twiligiit    Musings.  119 


%\t  mm,  mo. 

;  Thou  too,  sail  on,  0  Ship  of  State ! 
Sail  on,  0  Union,  strong  and  great !" 

Longfellow. 


God  speed  our  noble  Ship  of  State, 

And  shield  her  from  the  storm, 
Which  beats  so  wildly  round  her  now, 

And  threatens  serious  harm. 
O  thou !  whose  voice  can  calm  the  storm, 

Pour  oil  upon  the  wave ; 
Thou !  who  once  stilled  old  Galilee, 

Be  with  her  now  to  save. 

Her  timbers  creak,  her  sails  are  torn  ! 

Ye  pilots  !  guide  her  helm  : 
For  breakers  high  around  her  roar, 

Threat' ning  to  overwhelm. 
Oft  has  she  passed  through  stormy  times, 

Ready  each  blast  to  dare, 
And  still  her  flag  of  stars  and  stripes, 

Streams  out  upon  the  air.; 

Float  on,  float  on,  thou  noble  flag  ! 

For  who  could  bear  to  see 
One  star  effaced  from  thy  blue  folds, 

One  ray  of  liberty  ? 
Should  that  day  come,  when  freemen's  hands, 

Should  dare  to  rend  in  twain 
Our  glorious  flag;  such  traitor  bands 

With  infamy  are  stained. 


120  Twilight   Musings. 

Ye  spirits  of  the  patriot  dead ! 

The  shameful  cry  now  hear : 
"  Dissolve  the  Union  !"  rend  the  tie 

Which  ye  esteemed  so  dear. 
Methinks  I  see  the  calm  blue  eye 

Of  Washington,  look  on 
With  silent,  stern  astonishment, 

Rebuking  faithless  ones. 

Methinks  "  the  old  man  eloquent"* 

Once  more  among  ye  stands, 
Crying,  "  Now  shame  upon  the  man 

Who'd  sever  freedom's  band." 
Ye  patriots  of  the  ancient  time  ! 

Who  loved  your  country  well, 
May  your  example  strengthen  these,  ' 

Who  seek  the  cry  to  quell. 

Hold  on,  hold  on,  ye  faithful  friends ! 

Give  for  your  country's  weal, 
Your  time,  your  talents,  your  good  name, 

With  all  a  martyr's  zeal. 
Abide  ye  steadfast,  whose  gray  hairs, f 

Whose  venerable  form, 
Whose  silv'ry  tones  of  eloquence, 

A  nation's  heart  can  warm. 

Though  demagogues  around  your  sneer, 
Their  missiles  harmless  fall  j 

Speak  with  the  majesty  of  truth, 
Nor  heed  their  senseless  call. 

*  John  Adams.  f  Henry  Clay. 


Twilight    Musings.  121 

Speak  truth  to  man,  and  lift  on  high 

The  voice  of  earnest  prayer ; 
And  tho'  the  thunder  rolls  around, 

He'll  clear  the  stormy  air. 

He'll  bid  the  Ship  of  State  ride  on,^ 

In  majesty  sublime, 
Amid  the  war  of  elements, 

Amid  the  storms  of  time. 
Her  foes  shall  hide  their  coward  heads, 

When  brethren,  hand  in  hand, 
Shall  still  around  her  towering  masts 

Stand  an  unbroken  band. 

While  freedom's  flag  shall  wave  o'er  them, 

And  from  her  gallant  crew, 
Shall  loud  ascend  the  joyful  shout, 

Which  hails  her  safely  through. 
"  Union  or  death  !"  be  this  the  cry, 

Wrung  from  each  freeman's  heart : 
Let  Union  be  the  rallying  word  : 

Let  brethren  never  part. 

A  nation's  voice  shall  join  the  shout, 

And  o'er  the  distant  sea, 
9 Twill  reach  the  tyrant,  who  would  crush 

The  spirit  of  the  free. 
'Twill  send  a  thrill  of  fear  to  them, 

But  rapture  to  the  band 
Of  anxious  hearts,  who  look  on  us, 

As  freedom's  happy  land. 

Not  yet — not  yet — ye  noble  few  ! 

We  still  the  storm  outride  -y 
11 


122  Twilight    Musings. 

Though  tyrants  wait  to  hail  our  fall, 

United  we  abide. 
And  tho'  the  sun  which  rose  on  you, 

Seems  now  to  set  in  gloom ; 
Look  up — look  up — with  cheerful  hearts, 

Its  rising  day  will  come. 


On  a  bright  and  sunny  day, 
"When  the  sun  shone  forth  in  his  cheering  power, 
Amid  rural  scenes,  in  the  morning  hour, 

A  Christian  pursued  his  way. 

All  creation  smiled  around, 
And  its  pages,  so  fill'd  with  sacred  things, 
To  the  heart  of  the  Christian  instruction  brings, 

Where'er  a  reader  is  found. 

Many  voices  may  be  heard 
From  the  page  inspired,  and  the  gospel  sound, 
To  the  smallest  insect  that  crawls  on  the  ground, 

All  teaching  like  thee,  sweet  bird  ! 

For  the  just,  the  torrent  flows ; 
Or  the  moon,  with  her  soft  and  silv'ry  light, 
And  the  setting  sun,  and  the  flowers  so  bright, 

Sweet  lessons  of  wisdom  show. 


Twilight    Musings.  123 

That  morning,  a  feeble  bird, 
On  a  branch  that  bent  to  the  sighing  breeze, 
While  it  whisper' d  soft,  'mid  the  waving  trees, 

As  a  teacher,  there  was  heard. 

Though  the  slender  branch  was  stirred 
By  the  sighing  wind,  as  it  rose  and  fell, 
Yet  the  carolling  warbler's  notes  would  swell, 

Like  a  blithe  and  happy  bird. 

He  sang  with  his  sweetest  tones, 
As  joyfully,  when  he  bent  to  the  gale, 
As  when  soaring  aloft,  his  pinions  set  sail 

For  a  flight  to  another  home. 

Sweet  bird  !  of  the  changing  bough, 
Unchanged  are  thy  notes,  ever  blithe  and  gay ; 
In  thy  downward  course,  as  thine  upward  way  : 

"What  dost  thou  teach  me  now  ? 

Thus  thankful,  my  heart  would  sing, 
When  the  gale  of  prosperity  fans  my  brow  : 
Like  thee,  sweet  bird  of  the  rising  bough  ! 

I  would  plume  the  joyous  wing. 

Still  praising,  my  heart  would  bow, 
When  the  storm  of  sorrow  my  branch  assails : 
Like  thee,  sweet  bird  !  would  I  bend  to  the  gale, 

Yet  carolling  notes  of  joy. 

My  Redeemer  I  would  praise, 
'Mid  the  changing  scenes  of  weal  and  woe, 
Which  the  pilgrim  must  meet  while  here  below ; 

Till  numbered  are  all  my  days. 


124  Twilight    Musings. 

Then  would  I  take  my  flight, 
Joyfully  singing,  as  upward  I  fly, 
Like  thee  sweet  bird !  thro'  thine  own  blue  sky, 

To  a  world  of  endless  delight. 


®(>ragjjis  nit  %  Central  Ghmtatiim  of  1S5U. 

"  NOW   WE    SEE   THROUGH   A   GLASS    DARKLY,  BUT  THEN  FACE  TO  FACE." 

Like  dioramic,  misty  views, 
So  human  passions  oft  confuse 
The  visions  of  a  Savior's  face, 
So  redolent  with  love  and  grace. 

But  let  the  magic  picture  lie 
A  moment  near  the  watchful  eye ; 
And  soon  the  wondrous  tints  appear, 
Bringing  each  form  of  beauty  near. 

Quickly  the  shadows  fly  away ; 
And  brighter  than  the  hues  of  day, 
In  brilliant  colors,  soon  appear 
The  glowing  pictures,  fair  and  clear. 

Thus  brethren  now,  each  other  view 
Thro'  vision  dim,  often  untrue; 
The  light  of  love  alone  can  clear, 
Making  each  lovely  grace  appear. 


Twilight    Musings.  125 

Dissolved  thus,  in  heaven's  own  light, 
All  minor  things  shall  take  their  flight ; 
And  every  eye,  in  raptured  gaze, 
Shall  dwell  on  Jesus'  glorious  face. 

Christ  robed  in  victory's  garments  there, 
Then  the  triumphant  crown  shall  wear ; 
Each  ransomed  soul  shall  gaze  on  him, 
Till  earthly  things  shall  all  grow  dim. 

Then,  brethren  joined  in  perfect  love, 
In  union  blest  shall  meet  above ; 
No  cold  salute,  no  jarring  word, 
Can  ever  come,  where  dwells  our  Lord. 

There,  misty  shades  of  error  fly ; 
There,  prejudice  and  passion  die; 
There,  dark  suspicion  hides  her  head, 
And  sin,  and  death  itself,  are  dead. 

The  warmth  and  light  of  Jesus'  love, 
Thus  powerfully  shall  dissolve 
All  human  elements  of  strife, 
In  that  blest  world  of  heavenly  life. 

But  not  like  transient  magic  views, 
Of  Diorama's  fleeting  hues, 
Dissolved  in  heaven,  sin's  reign  is  o'er, 
It  casts  its  shadow  nevermore. 

There,  brethren  perfected  in  grace, 
See  in  each  other  Jesus'  face ; 
There,  joined  in  one  unbroken  band, 
Forever  dwell  in  that  blest  land. 
11* 


126  Twilight  Musings. 


&|i  f  asfor's  m\±. 

Holy  work,  and  heav'nly  joys 
All  the  pastor's  time  employs  : 
May  the  record  of  each  day 
Bear  from  earth  to  Heaven  away, 
Tidings  of  a  life  well  spent, 
Blessed  toils,  with  soul  content. 

Monday  comes,  but  not  for  thee 
Comes  a  day  from  labor  free ; 
On  the  tablet  for  this  day, 
Stands  a  call,  to  watch  and  pray 
By  a  sick  and  dying  bed, 
Where  no  ray  of  hope  is  shed. 

Or  perhaps,  in  thoughtful  mood, 
Searching  for  thy  people's  food, 
Shelter' d  in  thy  quiet  room, 
Sudden  calls  of  duty  come. 
Ever  ready  thou  must  be  : 
'Tis  the  Master,  calls  for  thee. 

What  on  Tuesday's  page  appears  ? 
Messages  defac'd  by  tears, 
Bleeding  hearts  await  thy  prayers, 
Where  thou  must  their  sorrows  share. 
Thus  life  consumes,  but  thou  art  bless' d, 
With  visions  of  the  spirit's  rest. 


Twilight   Musings.  127 

Wednesday's  page  is  covered  o'er, 
Food  to  gather — while  thy  door 
Answers  to  uncommon  calls; 
So  much  work,  thy  heart  appals ; 
Sick  and  weary,  thou  must  go, 
But  thy  burden,  Jesus  knows. 

Thursday's  page  no  less  presents, 
When  thy  strength  is  almost  spent, 
Some  kind  greeting  sent  to  thee, 
Full  of  Christian  sympathy,' 
Sends  thee  happy  on  thy  way, 
Cheers  the  labors  of  the  day. 

Friday,  filled  with  many  cares, 
And  thy  path  beset  with  snares ; 
Some  rude  word  unkindly  said, 
Low  has  bow'd  thy  drooping  head. 
Sweet  to  know  in  darkest  hour, 
Christ  has  felt  temptation's  power. 

The  last  day  comes,  and  toiling  brain 
Must  labor  oft  in  racking  pain ; 
While  waves  of  anxious  trouble  roll 
On  thee,  the  cares  of  precious  souls. 
So  life  wears  on,  but  peace  attends 
The  soul,  that  thus  existence  spends. 

Oh  !  may  these  records  of  each  day 
Thus  spent  for  Christ,  be  borne  away 
By  angel  messengers  to  Heaven, 
Recording  deeds  of  mercy  given  : 
Thus,  sprinkled  with  the  Savior's  blood, 
May  they  acceptance  find  with  God. 


128  Twilight    Musings. 


griwcatkt  of  %  paste's  Stubw. 

Hence  !  'tis  a  sacred  spot !  from  hence  depart, 
All  that  would  enter  to  distract  the  heart. 
Here  may  the  Spirit  rest,  here  Jesus  come 
To  dwell  with  thee,  as  in  a  chosen  home. 

Bid  every  selfish  aim  from  hence  begone ; 
Seek  for  thy  motive,  one  pure  aim  alone. 
Give  heavenly  food  drawn  from  the  holy  word. 
Here,  may  the  voice  of  heartfelt  prayer  be  heard. 

Here,  when  the  tempter  comes  to  lure  thy  heart, 
May'st  thou  have  power  to  fend  away  his  dart : 
Here  may'st  thou  gain  high  triumphs  over  sin  : 
Here  may'st  thou  learn  immortal  souls  to  win. 

Surrounded  by  the  spirits  of  the  just, 
Who,  tho'  their  bodies  moulder  in  the  dust, 
Still  speak  to  thee,  from  out  these  voiceless  tomes, 
Which  they  have  left,  to  guide  tir'd  pilgrims  home. 

May'st  thou  the  lofty  inspiration  feel, 
Of  patriarch's  and  prophet's  holy  zeal; 
While  apostolic  faith,  and  holy  deeds 
Of  later  days,  thy  musing  spirit  feeds. 

Thus,  holding  high  communion  with  the  skies, 
May  all  thy  Christian  graces  higher  rise : 
Nearer  and  nearer  to  the  Blessed  One, 
May'st  thou  reflect  the  image  of  His  Son. 


Twilight  Musings.  129 

When  thou  hast  filled  thy  heart  with  solemn  thoughts, 
When  from  high  heaven,  thou  hast  manna  brought, 
When  filled  with  strong  desires  and  holy  zeal, 
When  thus,  the  soul's  high  value,  thou  dost  feel; 

Then  come  to  us,  and  we  will  pray  for  thee ; 
Thy  glowing  words  shall  then  find  access  free, 
To  spirits  wand'ring  from  the  Savior's  fold, 
And  thou  shalt  bring  to  them,  bliss  all  untold. 


Pile  <%rIoftt. 

WHY    DO    WE    WEEP? 

Why  do  we  weep  ?  'tis  that  we  miss 

The  ringing,  joyous  sound 
Of  youthful  merriment's  sweet  laugh, 

And  childhood's  springing  bound. 

Why  do  we  weep  ? — fond  eyes  are  closed, 

Which  ever  brightly  shone 
With  kindly  beams  of  gentle  love, 

And  we  are  left  alone. 

Why  do  we  weep  ? — the  sweet  caress 
And  prattling  voice  are  gone ; 

And  the  crushed  heart  must  keenly  bleed 
When  thus  it  feels  alone. 


130  Twilight    Musings. 

Why  should  we  weep  ?  when  those  we  love 

Are  gathered  early  home ; 
When  safely  garnered  up  in  Heaven, 

Where  blight  can  never  come. 

Why  should  we  weep  ?  when  Jesus  comes 
And  plucks  a  fa v' rite  flower; 

;Tis  but  to  plant  it  in  a  soil 
Of  ever  living  power. 

Why  should  we  weep  ?  when  angels  bear 

The  infant  spirit  home ; 
And  they  who've  safely  reached  the  goal, 

Bid  the  beloved  come. 

Then,  let  us  hush  each  rising  sigh, 
And  bid  each  murmur  cease  : 

We  yield  thee,  loved  one,  to  thy  Lord, 
And  to  thy  home  of  peace. 


%a  mg  jko%r  in  jitakn. 

"FOR    IP    WE    BELIEVE    THAT   JESUS    DIED  AND    ROSE  AGAIN,  EVEN    SO    THEM 
ALSO  WHICH  SLEEP  IN  JESUS,  WILL  GOD  BRING  WITH  HIM." 

My  brother,  I  remember  well 

Thy  days  of  early  youth, 
The  warm  affections  of  thy  heart, 

Thy  soul  so  full  of  truth. 


Twilight    Musings.  131 

The  sweetness  of  thy  magic  smile, 

Is  all  before  me  now; 
The  pensive  beaming  of  thine  eye, 

Lighting  thy  manly  brow. 

I  see  thee  now,  as  once  I  saw, 

Thy  cheek  all  flushed  with  joy; 
When  proud  ambition  fired  thy  soul, 

Whilst  thou  wert  yet  a  boy. 
Thy  sister's  supplicating  voice 

To  thee,  was  raised  in  vain ; 
When  thou  wert  bent  to  dare  alone 

The  world's  tempestuous  main. 

That  voice  which  then  thou  would'st  not  hear, 

To  God,  was  raised  in  prayer, 
Which  tho'  so  feeble,  yet  by  faith 

It  gain'd  an  audience  there. 
I  see  thee  now,  when  all  thy  hopes 

Were  crushed,  and  thou  wert  driv'n, 
In  answer  to  a  sister's  prayers, 

To  seek  thy  rest  in  Heaven. 

I  see  thee  now,  as  once  I  saw 

Thee,  turn  thine  eye  away 
From  all  that  earth  could  offer  thee, 

As  trifles  of  a  day. 
When,  leaving  all  to  follow  Him 

Whose  love  thy  heart  had  won, 
With  single  purpose,  'twas  thy  joy, 

To  live  for  Christ  alone. 

A  few  brief  years  of  burning  zeal, 
So  quick  thy  race  was  run ; 


132  Twilight    Musings. 

Scarce  did'st  thou  gird  thine  armor  on, 
Ere  thy  short  work  was  done. 

I  see  thee  now,  as  once  I  saw, 
Thy  graceful  form  laid  low, 

And  trickling  tears  of  dying  love 
Bedew  thy  pallid  brow. 

When  faint  and  weak,  a  stricken  deer 

Thou  ever  seern'dst  to  me, 
"While  panting  'neath  the  archer's  dart, 

And  longing  to  be  free. 
The  peace  of  God  thy  bosom  filled ; 

A  peace  so  still,  so  deep  : 
'Tis  thus  the  gracious  Savior  gives 

His  own  beloved  sleep. 

I  see  thee  now,  thy  conflicts  o'er; 

Sickness  and  sighing  gone  : 
Eternal  blessedness  is  thine, 

While  ages  still  roll  on. 
Thine  is  the  victor's  palm  and  harp  ; 

Thine  is  the  shining  crown ; 
Thine  is  the  everlasting  song; 

And  thine  the  Savior's  throne. 

Ours,  is  to  toil  awhile  below ; 

Meekly  to  watch  and  pray, 
Through  all  the  whole  allotted  time 

Of  life's  appointed  day. 
'Tis  sweet  to  know  that  thou  art  there, 

Where  songs  of  joy  are  given, 
That  though  we  tarry  here  alone, 

Our  brother  rests  in  Heaven. 


Twilight    Musings.  133 


JarttaH  to  fye  Itjiglj. 

Farewell,  sweet  spot !  I  leave  you  now; 

Your  beauteous  hills  which  I  have  trod, 
Safe  sheltered  by  their  wide  embrace, 

Fit  emblems  of  the  love  of  God. 
For  like  the  everlasting  hills 

"Which  girdled  old  Jerusalem, 
So  safely  circled,  dost  thou  stand, 

Sweet,  simple,  peaceful  Bethlehem. 

Farewell  to  your  pellucid  stream, 

"Which  dances  on  with  joyous  tide  : 
Bright,  sparkling,  like  the  stream  of  life, 

"When  first  our  barks  upon  it  glide. 
The  music  of  your  rippling  waves 

"Will  often  soothe  my  mem'ry's  ear, 
"When  midst  the  din  of  earthly  cares, 

I  long  your  gentle  voice  to  hear. 

Your  shady  banks,  your  placid  breast, 

Cooling  the  fever  of  my  brow  : 
I  oft  shall  long  to  kiss  your  waves, 

As  the  light  oar  is  kissing  now. 
Flow  on,  flow  on,  thou  gentle  stream  ! 

Bear  on  thy  bosom  other  hearts ; 
And  be  to  them  the  charmed  voice 

"Which  bids  discordant  thoughts  depart. 
12 


134  Twilight  Musings. 


Co  <8%t  5S — ,  wjrat  absent  from  jrtr  |Jartnfc. 

Forget  not  thy  mother;  she  thinketh  of  thee, 
When  morning  and  evening,  she  bendeth  the  knee ; 
Tho'  forests  and  rivers  are  rolling  between, 
Yet  still  in  her  bosom,  thine  image  is  seen. 

Deep,  deep  in  its  chambers  thou  dwellest  enshrined  : 
Does  she  see  a  dark  eye  ?  she  is  thinking  of  thine  : 
Does  she  hear  a  young  voice  ?  then  the  musical  notes 
Of  her  far  distant  child  thro'  her  memory  floats. 

Does  she  see  a  young  group  sporting  round  her  in  glee  ? 

Her  soul  in  its  yearnings  is  musing  of  thee : 

Does  she  hear  a  light  step,  or  a  carolling  tone  ? 

Her  heart  leaps  to  meet  thee,  then  feels — she's  alone. 

When  day  is  declining,  and  gathering  round 
The  hearth  of  thy  father,  the  loved  ones  are  found ; 
0,  what  would  she  give,  the  dear  accents  to  hear 
Of  thy  loving  good-night,  whispered  soft  in  her  ear. 

Forget  not  thy  father ;  he  watcheth  thee  there  : 
TW  distant,  he  waiteth  in  faith,  and  in  prayer, 
For  the  sweet  buds  of  piety,  wisdom,  and  truth, 
Putting  forth  tender  shoots  in  the  days  of  thy  youth. 

Forget  not  thy  Savior ;    He  looketh  at  thee  : 

He  searcheth  for  fruit,  and  what  kind  does  He  see  ? 

Does  He  gather  but  leaves,  when  ripe  fruit  should  be  found  ? 

Forget  not  that  some  do  but  cumber  the  ground. 


Twilight   Musings.  135 

Forget  not  thy  closet,  but  often  go  there, 
"Where  alone  thou  may'st  meet  the  dear  Savior  in  prayer; 
For  what  can'st  thou  do,  in  a  world  full  of  woe, 
Without  a  Redeemer,  to  whom  thou  can'st  go  ? 

Forget  not  the  fragrance  of  heavenly  bowers, 
When  plucking  the  blossoms  of  earth's  fairest  flowers ; 
When  tasting  her  pleasures,  Oh  !  think  of  the  bliss, 
Which  the  ransomed  enjoy,  in  the  mansions  of  peace. 

Remember,  remember — this  is  not  thy  rest ; 
Thy  soul  is  immortal,  and  would'st  thou  be  blest? 
Choose  the  Grod  of  thy  parents,  and  grace  shall  be  given, 
To  lead  thee  with  them,  to  a  mansion  in  Heaven. 


Hail,  to  the  blessed  morn  !  'tis  now  the  hour 
When  ancient  Christians  carolled  forth  their  lay 

Of  holy  joy,  and  spirit-stirring  power, 

While  keeping  watch  for  the  first  beams  of  day ; 

Thus  heralding  the  dawn  of  Christmas  morn, 

Shouting  with  songs  of  joy,  that  "  Christ  is  born  V 

Obedient  to  my  muse's  call,  I  come, 

And  standing  near  the  window,  fancy  me ; 

Imagination's  wand  is  bringing  home 

All  whom  the  friends  within  would  wish  to  see. 


136  Twilight  Musings. 

All  shall  be  gathered  :  let  the  beloved  draw  near, 
While  I  would  hail  as  here,  all  ye  hold  dear. 

And  first,  a  branch  of  palm  and  cedar  green, 
From  old  Judea,  I  would  humbly  bear ; 

Emblems  most  fit  they  to  my  fancy  seem 

Of  what  the  pastor's  brow  would  seek  to  wear. 

His  be  the  useful  palm,  or  stately  tree, 

Cedar  for  growth,  the  palm  for  victory. 

Near  to  the  tree  of  Calvary,  may  he  stay, 

And  from  its  leaves,  draw  forth  the  healing  power; 

May  blessings  follow  him,  from  day  to  day, 
And  songs  of  victory  cheer  his  dying  hour. 

Then,  all  his  conflicts  o'er,  his  labor  done, 

May  he  at  last  secure  the  victor's  crown. 

A  rose,  with  two  sweet  buds,  I  humbly  twine 

Among  this  Christmas  wreath  :  long  may  they  bloom 

In  fragrant  beauty,  never  more  to  pine 
For  want  of  Christian  culture,  in  the  home 

Where  Jesus  dwells,  as  a  familiar  guest, 

And  makes  his  home  in  each  believer's  breast. 

A  branch  of  amaranth,  to  those  T  bring, 
Who  in  the  vale  of  life,  slowly  descend  : 

A  hymn  of  immortality  I'd  sing ; 

For  thither  do  their  footsteps  surely  tend. 

Tho'  hoary  hairs  are  gath'ring  o'er  the  head, 

Rays  of  immortal  life  are  round  them  shed. 

The  star  of  Bethlehem — sweet  lowly  flower, 
A  brother  and  a  sister's  brow  shall  wear; 


Twilight    Musings.  137 

Its  language  blest,  will  soothe  life's  darkest  hour : 
"  Light  of  our  path  I"  long  may  ye  gladly  hear 
Those  whispered  accents,  "  Come  thou,  follow  me  V 
May  all  admonished  by  its  language  be. 

And  still  one  little  unobtrusive  flower, 

Allow  me  yet  to  hang  upon  the  bough ; 
'Tis  rosemary;  " remembrance/'  in  this  hour 

Is  all  it  asks — when  at  his  feet  ye  bow, 
Remember  her,  who  chants  this  humble  lay, 
Remember,  when  for  feeble  ones  ye  pray. 

Now  let  me  fancy  all  are  gathered  here ; 

The  Pastor,  wife  and  children  so  beloved, 
The  aged  parents,  brother,  sister  dear ; 

All  ready  now  to  join  the  hymn  of  love  : 
And  this  will  be  a  type  of  that  blest  day, 
When  earthly  cares  shall  all  have  passed  away. 

When  to  our  wond'ring  sight,  the  Savior  comes, 
Not  as  a  helpless  babe,  whom  now  we  sing, 

But  crowned  with  glory,  then  to  welcome  home 
All  whom  the  Lord  has  promised  there  to  bring, 

May  ye  undaunted  in  that  hour  stand, 

And  meet  unbroken,  as  a  household  band. 


(Dramus. 


Oramus  !  oramus  !  Oh,  come  let  us  pray  ! 
The  day  of  probation  is  passing  away ; 
12* 


138  Twilight  Musings. 

In  Heav'n's  blessed  mansion  prayer  utters  no  sound, 
Nor  hell  hears  its  voice  in  her  caverns  profound. 

Oramus  !  oramus  !  Oh,  come  let  us  pray  ! 
When  blushes  the  morning  of  each  rising  day, 
Let  the  first  gush  of  feeling  in  gratitude  rise 
To  Him  who  keeps  watch,  to  the  Lord  of  the  skies. 

Oramus  !  oramus  !  Oh,  come  let  us  pray ! 
When  Sol's  bright  effulgence  is  fading  away ; 
When  the  dew  weeps  at  evening,  like  slow-falling  tears 
Shed  for  daily  transgressions,  when  twilight  appears. 

Oramus  !  oramus  !  Oh,  come  let  us  pray, 
When  the  sun  of  prosperity  shines  o'er  our  way; 
For  our  days  of  abundance  too  frequently  prove 
That  the  heart  filled  with  plenty  forgets  its  first  love. 

Oramus  !  oramus  !  Oh,  come  let  us  pray, 
When  earthly  enjoyments  are  touched  with  decay; 
When  darkness  surrounds  us,  and  trials  are  given, 
'Tis  then  that  we  raise  weeping  eyes  up  to  Heaven. 

Oramus  !  oramus  !  Oh,  come  let  us  pray  ! 
When  wearied  and  worn  by  the  toils  of  the  day, 
'Tis  prayer  that  upholds  us  when  ready  to  faint; 
Prayer  brightens  the  armor  of  every  saint. 

Oramus  !  oramus  !  Oh,  come  let  us  pray  ! 
Prayer  driveth  the  demons  of  darkness  away : 
It  archeth  a  bridge  from  the  earth  to  the  skies, 
On  which  its  sweet  messages  swiftly  arise. 


Twilight   Musings.  139 

Oramus  !  oramus  !  Oh,  come  let  us  pray  ! 

We  never  shall  know  till  eternity's  day, 

How  strong  are  its  pleadings,  how  mighty  its  power 

To  shield  us  from  harm  in  temptation's  dark  hour. 

Oramus  !  oramus  !  Oh,  come  let  us  pray  ! 

Our  days  are  fast  flying;  not  long  is  our  stay  : 

Soon,  soon  will  the  crown  of  the  victor  be  given, 

And  prayer  changed  to  praise,  'mid  the  glories  of  Heaven. 


WSfyd  is  %  <%$? 

"  TI1E  PILLAR   AND  GROUND    OF    THE    TRUTH." 

We  look  round  the  world  for  a  haven  of  rest, 

Where  the  pilgrim  may  hide  when  by  sorrows  oppressed 

'Tis  not  in  the  world;  'tis  in  nothing  below  : — 

Then  whither  for  rest  shall  the  tempted  one  go? 

To  the  ark  which  in  mercy  our  Father  hath  given 

To  shelter  and  guide  in  our  journey  to  Heaven; 

To  the  Church  of  our  Savior  God  bids  us  repair, 

For  all  that  we  need  we  shall  surely  find  there. 

To  the  Church  ?  I  would  ask,  and  where  is  she  found  ? 
For,  u  what  is  the  Church  ?"  is  now  echoed  all  round, 
Some  say  she's  a  Savior,  and  that  all  will  be  saved 
Who  once  in  her  laver  of  washing  have  laved. 
The  name  Mediator  by  some  has  been  given 
To  her,  who  they  say  can  alone  lead  to  Heaven, 


140  Twilight   Musings. 

'Tis  said  that  her  priests,  though  unholy  they  be, 
Must  plead  for  my  soul  when  from  wrath  I  would  flee. 

Some  say  she's  a  sun  shining  forth  in  her  might, 
But  the  Bible  declares  she's  a  moon,  whose  soft  light 
Is  only  reflected  from  Christ,  the  bright  sun 
Which  enlightens  the  Church  as  her  armies  move  on. 
She's  a  moon  in  eclipse,  when  false  to  her  Lord, 
She  turns  from  the  teachings  of  God's  holy  word 
To  the  voice  of  tradition ;  tho'  ancient  it  be, 
'Twill  not  guide  the  soul,  when  from  sin  it  would  flee. 

When  the  soul  feels  the  burden  of  multiplied  sin  ; 
When  tossed  by  temptations  and  conflicts  within, 
Would  it  soothe  her  to  talk  about  pictures  and  flowers; 
And  prate  about  candle-sticks,  crosses  and  towers  ? 
Some  call  her  a  building,  where  taste  must  be  fed  : 
Some  mutter  in  Latin  when  we  ask  for  bread  : 
Some  talk  about  altars,  and  tripods,  and  signs, 
When  the  hungry  are  seeking  for  food  for  the  mind. 

By  some  she  is  called  an  infallible  guide ; 
And  by  her  wise  decision  e'en  Scripture  is  tried; 
Would  we  come  to  the  truth,  we  must  passively  bow 
To  the  teachings  of  those,  who  would  fetter  us  now, 
Like  the  priest  of  the  poet,  once  named  Fadladeen,* 
Who,  when  the  bright  beams  of  the  sun  could  be  seen, 
Declared  to  his  pupils,  'Tis  darkness,  'tis  night! 
They  echoed  his  words,  though  they  saw  it  was  light. 

And  when  ev'ning  shadows  were  falling  around, 
All  passive  he  led  them,  in  mental  chains  bound, 

*  Fadladeen,  in  the  Poem  of  Lalla  Rookh. 


Twilight  Musings.  141 

And  raising  his  eyes,  said,  "  The  sun's  shining  bright :" 

They  replied,  "  Yes,  he  shines  !"  tho'  they  knew  it  was  night. 

Thus  reason,  so  godlike,  has  bandaged  her  eyes ; 

The  will  as  a  prisoner  enchained,  captive  lies ; 

E'en  the  light  wings  of  fancy  by  priestcraft  are  clipped, 

And  the  soul's  like  a  bark,  with  her  moorings  unshipped. 

Then  what  is  the  Church  ?  by  what  marks  shall  I  prove 

Her  voice  to  be  genuine,  her  claims  from  above  ? 

Does  she  open  the  Bible  ? — does  she  bid  us  all  read  ? 

This  marks  her  a  Church  of  the  Savior  indeed. 

Does  she  point  to  a  union  effected  by  faith 

In  the  crucified  Savior's  vicarious  death  ? 

Thus  making  the  soul  and  the  Savior  as  one, 

Not  by  sacraments  outward,  but  by  faith  thus  put  on. 

Does  she  turn  the  eye  inward  ? — does  she  bid  us  beware 

How  we  trust  to  a  life  of  mere  fasting  and  prayer  ? 

Does  she  bid  us  derive  all  our  life  from  the  Lord  ? 

Who  only  can  grace  to  the  tempted  afford. 

This  marks  a  true  church,  and  her  members  are  found 

Wherever  the  voice  of  the  Spirit  has  bound 

In  holy  communion,  each  sanctified  one 

Who  is  sealed  by  the  Spirit,  and  saved  by  the  Son. 

She  has  laws,  they  are  binding,  and  we  must  obey; 
She  has  rights,  we  must  use  them,  and  reverence  pay 
To  those,  who  commissioned  from  Heaven  above, 
Have  been  sent  to  the  Church,  on  an  errand  of  love. 
She  has  food  for  the  hungry,  and  wine  for  the  faint ; 
She  has  blessed  refreshment  to  cheer  ev'ry  saint : 
Thrice  happy  are  they,  who  by  faith  are  enclosed 
In  this  ark  of  security,  safe  from  their  foes. 


142  Twilight   Musings. 

The  Church  is  the  object  of  heavenly  care ; 
The  bush  unconsumed,  tho'  still  burning,  declares 
That  G-od  will  defend  her,  though  foes  thicken  round, 
And  will  bring  them  in  ruin  all  down  to  the  ground. 
Once  hid  in  the  ark,  when  the  deep  waters  swelled, 
Through  the  wilderness  led,  her  deliverance  to  tell ; 
Oft  hunted  in  mountains,  oft  hidden  in  caves, 
Yet  He  who  was  mighty,  was  with  her  to  save. 

Sometimes  nearly  drowned  in  an  ocean  of  blood, 

When  tyrants  were  taunting,  "Will  ye  still  serve  G-od?" 

Sometimes  in  dark  dungeons,  yet  dauntless  she  stood, 

And  answered  exulting,  "  Still,  still  unsubdued  !" 

And  He  who  has  saved  her  through  flood  and  through  fire, 

Will  still  be  her  shield,  when  the  flames  shall  rise  higher : 

When  all  who  enclosed  in  the  ark  are  then  found, 

Will  safely  ride  on,  when  her  foes  are  all  drowned. 


Communion. 

Hush,  hush,  each  jarring  sound  ! 

This,  this  is  holy  ground ; 
Bid  all  who  stay  to  gaze,  hence  quick  depart : 

Let  silence  reign  within ; 

0,  that  our  bosom  sins 
Might  now  be  banished  from  each  waiting  heart  ! 

Begone  each  rising  fear  ! 
Jesus  himself  draws  near  : 
He  bids  us  "  Eat  and  drink,  as  friends  beloved  :" 


Twilight    Musings.  143 

His  banner  over  us, 
While  we  would  meet  him  thus, 
Is  that  of  infinite,  undying  love. 

He  looks  on  all  around, 

And  while  we  thus  surround 
His  table,  as  His  saved  and  faithful  ones, 

I  feel  His  searching  gaze, 

As  He  the  group  surveys ; 
He  cannot  be  deceived  by  masks  put  on. 

His  eye  is  turned  on  one, 

Bending  in  sadness  down, 
As  with  a  trembling  faith,  she  ventures  near; 

He  sees  the  self-distrust, 

Bowed  in  the  very  dust, 
And  whispers  kindly,  "  Be  thou  of  good  cheer/' 

A  form  erect  draws  near, 

A  solemn  look  he  wears, 
The  Savior  darts  on  him  a  startling  gaze  : 

What  art  thou  doing  here  ? 

Why  'mong  the  saints  appear, 
When  thou  art  walking  in  deceitful  ways  ? 

He  sees  an  erring  child, 

By  worldly  joys  beguiled, 
And  faithful  whispers,  Rise  !  from  hence  depart : 

Here  is  no  place  of  rest; 

Fly  to  thy  Savior's  breast  ! 
Let  nothing  short  of  Heaven,  fill  thy  heart. 


144  Twilight    Musings. 

At  many  sacred  feasts, 

There  are  unwelcome  guests, 
Unblessed,  unbidden,  known  to  His  great  eye ; 

0,  may  each  waiting  heart, 

Ere  we  from  hence  depart, 
In  deep  communings,  ask,  "  Lord,  is  it  I  V* 

He  looks  for  living  faith  : 

Of  such  He  kindly  saith, 
In  the  dread  judgment  day,  "They  shall  be  mine:" 

When  earth  shall  pass  away, 

When  bursts  the  rising  day, 
They  shall  among  my  jewels  brightly  shine. 


Qt  M\i\  fitto. 

There  was  once  a  glowing  picture 

Seen  in  Hope's  enchanted  hall : 
Love  illumed  the  speaking  features, 

Hung  on  faithful  memory's  walls. 
Painted  by  a  trusting  maiden, 

With  a  pencil  joy-inspired, 
Ere  the  heart  with  sorrow  laden, 

Quenches  youthful  fancy's  fire. 

There  she  saw  a  cottage  lowly, 
In  the  distance  brightly  gleam ; 

And  around  the  fireside  holy, 
Happy  faces  lit  the  scene 


Twilight    Musings.  145 

One  there  was  so  kindly  smiling, 

Standing  at  the  cottage  gate ; 
Who  her  bosom  cares  beguiling, 

For  his  coming  she  would  wait. 

There  she  pictured  ev'ning  pleasures, 

When  her  household  toils  were  done  ; 
There  she  saw  her  precious  treasures, 

There  a  heart  to  lean  upon. 
Glowing  with  love's  brilliant  sunlight, 

Sweet  the  beauteous  picture  lay  : 
Scarce  she  dreamed,  that  shades  of  midnight 

Soon  would  quench  these  beaming  rays. 

Blest  she  gazed,  and  deeply  musing 

O'er  that  scene  of  earthly  love, 
Every  feature  oft  perusing, 

Till  it  dimmed  the  home  above. 
Distant  seemed  the  joys  of  Heaven, 

Fainter  beamed  the  glory  there  : 
Too  much  love  to  earth  was  given ; 

Human  idols  weaken  prayer. 

Then  her  Father,  deeply  loving, 

Kindly  dropped  a  friendly  veil 
O'er  the  picture,  thus  removing 

Tints  that  made  Heaven's  glory  pale.. 
Hid  the  cottage  from  her  vision, 

Screened  the  halo  once  so  bright, 
And  o'er  all  the  home  Elysian 

Spread  the  dismal  pall  of  night. 

Vanished  then  the  smiling  1 
And,  amid  heart-breaking  tears, 
13 


146  Twilight    Musings. 

Naught  was  left  but  meni'ry's  traces, 
Broken  vows — and  lonely  years. 

But,  though  sad  and  heavy  laden, 
With  the  burden  on  her  heart, 

Jesus  loved  the  gentle  maiden, 
In  her  sorrows  bore  a  part. 

Sent  her  down  a  branch  from  Heaven, 

Gathered  from  the  tree  of  life ) 
Bade  her  hope,  though  deeply  riven, 

Sorely  tried  by  mortal  strife. 
Opened  wide  the  heavenly  mansion, 

Flooded  all  her  path  with  light, 
Gave  her  spirit  free  expansion, 

Cheered  her  in  her  upward  flight. 

Hushed  the  murmurs  of  her  spirit, 
Gave  her  strength  to  take  the  cup ; 

Showed  the  bliss  which  they  inherit, 
Who  can  drink  their  portion  up. 

Then  her  earthly  path  grew  brighter, 
As  it  neared  the  perfect  day, 

And  her  chastened  heart  grew  lighter, 

•     As  she  walked  the  pilgrim's  way. 

Near  her  footsteps  beamed  bright  flowers, 

Heavenly  hope,  and  joy,  and  love; 
Cheered  by  sweet,  refreshing  showers, 

Gently  falling  from  above. 
Then  she  learned  to  bless  the  chast'ning, 

Which  had  bid  her  early  come 
To  the  feet  of  Jesus,  hast'ning 

To  her  everlasting  home. 


Twilight   Musings.  147 


%h$  Cloubs. 


Just  on  the  high,  mysterious  verge 

That  bounds  the  world  of  sense, 
Lie  clouds,  in  massy  grandeur  piled, 

Drawing  our  spirits  hence. 
Onward  and  upward  thought  ascends, 

And  busy  fancy  flies 
On  pinions  swift,  to  Heavenly  realms, 

Where  fields  of  glory  lie. 

A  fleecy  cloud  goes  flitting  by, 

And  in  its  form  of  grace, 
It  seems  to  wear  in  misty  shape, 

Almost  an  angel's  face. 
Clouds  piled  on  clouds,  of  lofty  height, 

Glist'ning  like  Alpine  snow, 
When  on  each  toVring,  distant  peak, 

The  sun  his  glory  throws, 

Seem  like  the  everlasting  hills, 

Where  heavenly  Zion  stands, 
Painted  by  old,  prophetic  pens, 

Built  by  Jehovah's  hands. 
And  thro'  the  op'ning  of  the  clouds, 

Floods  of  resplendent  light 
Seem  bursting  through  the  gates  of  Heaven, 

For  human  sight  too  bright. 

Beyond  these  intervening  clouds, 
Beyond  our  mortal  sight, 


148  Twilight  Musings. 

The  glitt'ring  turrets  tow' ring  rise, 
Glowing  with  heavenly  light ; 

And  beckoning  angels  eager  lean 
Over  their  dizzy  height, 

O  !  for  an  angel's  wing,  to  soar 
Beyond  these  shades  of  night 


£o  %  £ lijikls, 

Carol,  carol,  carol, 

Skylark  on  the  wing ; 
Mounting  ever  upward, 

As  you  blithely  sing. 
Up  the  vault  of  Heaven, 

Higher,  higher  soar, 
Leaving  earth  behind  you, 

Warbling  evermore. 

Carol,  carol,  carol; 

Hidden  by  the  clouds, 
Still  we  hear  you  warbling, 

Joyous,  clear  and  loud  : 
Every  note  is  gushing, 

Full  of  sportive  joy  : 
Mortal  murmurs  hushing, 

Is  your  sweet  employ. 

Carol,  carol,  carol, 
Far  up  out  of  sight; 


Twilight   Musings.  149 

Still  with  instinct  tender, 

Swiftly  you  alight 
On  your  nest  of  nurslings, 

Never  once  forgot ; 
Next  to  Heaven's  attraction, 

'Tis  a  cherished  spot. 

Carol,  carol,  carol, 

Like  the  Christian  heart ; 
While  his  faith  mounts  upward, 

Still  he  ne'er  departs 
From  the  precious  nestling, 

Which  his  Grod  hath  given  : 
These  he  seeks,  enticing 

Their  young  flight  to  Heaven. 


Christmas  gjtfls. 

'Tis  winter  on  the  earth, 


And  December  blasts  are  blowing; 
Now  we  gather  round  the  hearth, 

For  'tis  snowing;  thickly  snowing  ; 
But  upon  the  Church  is  dawning, 

Now,  her  joyous  time  of  spring  ; 
Soon  we'll  hail  the  blessed  morning 

Of  the  Advent  of  her  King. 
Sing,  Christian,  sing ! 

While  we  hail  the  morning  star, 
13* 


150  Twilight    Musings. 

And  with  angelic  wing, 
Let  our  spirits  upward  soar. 

'Tis  fitting  we  should  bring 

Branches  green,  and  winter  flowers ; 
'Tis  the  Church's  budding  spring, 

Marking  time  by  holy  hours. 
Up !  and  ring  a  joyous  peal, 

For  the  day  is  coming  round, 
When  the  Christian  world  shall  kneel 

At  the  Advent's  stirring  sound. 
Kneel,  Christian,  kneel ! 

For  the  Lord  is  drawing  near ; 
Oh  !  may  we  raptured  feel, 

"When  His  chariot-wheels  appear. 

'Tis  a  gray  December  morn, 

Long  before  the  world  is  humming  ; 
Let  us  rise  with  early  dawn, 

For  the  Lord  is  coming,  coming — 
Now,  'tis  Christmas  !  Christmas  morning  ! 

Listen  to  the  welcome  peal, 
With  the  winter-winds  returning  : 

Oh !  how  thankful  should  we  feel. 
Come,  Christian,  come  ! 

Let  us  hasten  to  the  manger, 
Where  in  an  humble  home, 

We  hail  the  wondrous  stranger  ! 

Another  morn  will  come, 

When,  with  angel  bands  attending, 

In  regal  pomp  come  down, 

We  shall  see  the  Lord  descending. 


Twilight   Musings.  151 

When  the  world  shall  be  on  fire, 

And  the  trumpet's  blast  shall  sound  : 
Amidst  that  funeral  pyre, 

Where  shall  we  then  be  found  ? 
Rise,  Christian,  rise ! 

Watch  and  pray  with  godly  fear : 
Oh  !  upward  lift  thine  eyes  ! 

For  His  Advent  draweth  near. 


(iatoimut's  |littMs. 

On  woman  !  high  and  holy  is  thy  mission  ! 

Blest  is  the  sceptre,  placed  within  thy  hands ; 
Thou'rt  crowned  a  queen  !  by  God's  divine  commission, 

O'er  household  bands. 
How  can'st  thou  turn  aside,  from  paths  so  holy? 

Or  e'er  forsake  the  realm  of  home  delights  ? 
In  that  sweet  ministry,  so  pure  and  lowly, 

Find  there  thy  rights. 
Not  in  the  pulpit,  or  the  public  forum, 

With  head  uncovered,  and  undaunted  brow, 
Should'st  thou  forget  that  modest,  chaste  decorum, 

To  which  man  bows. 
Ordained  by  Heaven !  by  the  Lord  anointed, 

As  man's  best  comforter,  his  earliest  guide ; 
Ah  !  why  assume  man's  duties  ?  self-appointed 

By  silly  pride. 
A  holy  wife  !  Ah  !  who  can  count  the  blessing  ? 
Man's  solace  in  the  dark  and  trying  hours 


152  Twilight   Musings. 

When  earth  forsakes,  still  tenderly  caressing, 

Through  love's  deep  power. 
E'en  tho'  her  fragile  form,  is  framed  for  clinging, 

How  often  has  her  loving  faith  sustained 
Man's  sinking  spirit,  songs  of  comfort  singing, 

Soothing  life's  pain. 
A  holy  mother !  golden  link  !  uniting 

Her  cherished  loved  ones  to  the  throne  of  God ; 
By  faithful  prayer,  and  holy  life  inviting 

To  Heaven's  abode. 
Those  whispered  prayers,  so  full  of  deep  sensation, 
That  gentle  hand,  pressed  on  the  youthful  head, 
Felt  often  in  the  hours  of  dark  temptation, 
When  she  is  dead. 
She  hath  been  heard  in  pulpits — by  her  teaching, 

Through  manly  tones,  the  truths  she  has  impressed 
On  many  souls,  Christ's  precious  doctrine  preaching, 

When  she's  at  rest. 
E'en  at  the  head  of  nations,  she  hath  been; 

Not  in  her  person — that  should  ever  be 
Veiled  from  the  public  gaze,  and  only  seen 

Thus  modestly. 
In  the  pure  patriot's  lofty  elevation, 

Are  woman's  holy  lessons  often  heard; 
A  mother's  fireside  teaching,  mighty  nations 

Have  often  stirred. 
Watching  with  tender  love  around  the  dying : 

Moist' ning  the  parched  lips,  raising  the  head, 
Pointing  to  realms,  where  sorrow,  sin  and  sighing 

Are  ever  fled. 
Scatt'ring  the  seeds  of  heav'nly  wisdom's  teaching 

In  youthful  bosoms,  ere  the  world  has  come 
To  claim  their  worship;  woman's  voice  beseeching, 
Bids  them  come  home. 


Twilight   Musings.  153 

Seeking  the  lost,  in  deepest  degradation, 

Snatching  the  wine-cup  from  the  trembling  hand, 
Like  a  bright  angel,  offering  full  salvation 

To  fallen  man. 
A  holy  woman  !  who  can  tell  her  power  ? 

Casting  abroad  her  seed  of  priceless  worth, 
Xo  human  pen  can  count,  till  that  great  hour, 

When  germs  spring  forth. 
On  that  bright  morning,  when,  the  harvest  reaping, 

To  gather  in  His  sheaves,  the  Savior  comes ; 
Ah  !  then,  the  seed  she  sowed,  with  secret  weeping, 

In  Heav'n  shall  bloom. 
These  are  thy  rights,  this  is  thy  holy  calling; 

Leave  thou  to  man,  the  stormy,  fierce  debate  : 
The  throne  of  home  forsake,  thy  glory  falling, 
Thy  hearth  is  desolate. 
This  is  thy  mission,  blessed,  pure,  and  holy; 

Step  not  aside  the  higher  paths  to  tread 
Of  man's  ambition,  but  be  meek  and  lowly  : 

Thus  safely  led, 
Along  the  path,  by  God  himself  directed, 

His  blessing  rests  on  thee,  His  smile  approves; 
Through  life  supported,  and  in  death  protected 

By  Jesus'  love. 
With  angels,  thou  shalt  hold  sublime  communion ; 

For  on  the  earth,  almost  an  angel  blest, 
In  the  high  rapture  of  a  heavenly  union, 

Thou  shalt  find  rest. 


154  Twilight   Musings. 


§aYs  |koinknte. 

"ARE  not  five  sparrows  sold  for  a  farthixg.' 

In  the  deep  blue  vault  of  Heaven, 

Where  the  silent  planets  roll, 
Oh  !  what  proofs  of  care  are  given, 

Speaking  comfort  to  the  soul. 
Age  on  ages  rolling  onward, 

'Mid  a  space  unfathoined  still ; 
Never  clashing,  moving  forward, 

With  a  sure,  unerring  skill. 

In  the  tiny  little  creatures 

All  unseen  by  naked  eye; 
Oh  !  what  wondrous  perfect  features, 

'Neath  the  microcosm  lie. 
To  the  lily,  bending  lowly, 

Light  and  air,  and  food  are  giv'n  -} 
Whisp'ring  soft,  in  accents  holy, 

"Trust  the  gracious  God  of  Heav'n." 

Shall  the  mighty  planets  rolling, 

By  the  power  of  his  hand, 
Which  each  insect  is  controlling, 

In  the  air,  or  sea,  or  land  ? 
And  shall  not  his  love  and  pow'r, 

Much  more  guide  immortal  man  ? 
Through  life's  changing,  troubled  hour, 

With  a  sure,  unerring  hand  ? 


Twilight   Musings.  155 


Shall  he  clothe  the  worthless  sparrow, 

"Which  is  for  a  farthing  sold, 
And  not  guide  each  fatal  arrow 

With  a  hand  by  love  controlled  ? 
Oft  'mid  earthly  feeble  tapers, 

We  forget  the  brilliant  sun, 
Which  behind  these  cloudy  vapors, 

Still  in  glory  shineth  on. 


Shineth  on  like  God's  own  power, 

Which  in  providence  appears 
Mines  unfathomed,  till  the  hour 

When  in  Heaven  they  will  be  clear. 
Like  EzekiePs  wondrous  vision 

Of  the  wheels  within  a  wheel, 
Fitted  with  divine  precision, 

Moved  by  swift,  angelic  zeal. 

Covered  o'er  with  eyes  all  glist'ning, 

Wheels  of  Providence  sublime 
Silent  move,  while  men  are  list'ning 

For  the  voice  which  rules  all  time. 
Let  me  rest  as  they  are  moving, 

Tho'  the  clouds  be  dark  above : 
From  the  throne  my  Father  loving 

Guides  them  by  a  hand  of  love. 


156  Twilight    Musings. 


%\t  Cmikni  of  Mtth. 

In  the  convent  of  Valetta, 

In  the  niches  of  the  wall, 
Monks  are  standing,  cold  and  lifeless, 

While  the  shades  of  ev'ning  fall. 

All  in  robes  of  serge  are  shrouded, 

Such  as  living  they  did  wear; 
And  to  make  the  scene  more  solemn, 

Flashing  torches,  each  one  bears. 

Oh  !  what  sermons  they  are  preaching 

To  the  living,  as  they  stand, 
From  those  lips  so  closed  and  silent, 

From  the  pointing  rigid  hand. 

u  Such  as  we  are,  thoughtless  mortals  ! 

Soon  each  living  form  shall  be : 
Live  then  with  the  grave  before  you, 

Fitting  for  eternity. 

"  Then,  though  dust  to  dust  is  turning, 

In  the  darkness  of  the  tomb, 
Soon  will  cease  your  time  of  mourning ; 

Soon  your  rising  day  will  come. 

"  Bursting  then,  from  death's  deep  slumbers, 
Life  and  youth  again  shall  bloom  : 

Gone  forever  shades  of  darkness, 
In  the  world  beyond  the  tomb." 


Twilight   Musings.  157 


diunilj  $tmt  from  *lc;il  fife. 

Oh,  it  is  lovely !  saints  delight  to  dwell 
Amidst  a  scene  so  fraught  with  holy  love  : 

Those  tender  accents  of  affection  tell 

How  deep  the  feeling,  kindling  from  above, 

Which  sends  the  father's  soul  into  his  eyes, 

Longing  to  lead  his  offspring  to  the  skies. 

'Tis  Sabbath's  twilight  eve,  whose  soothing  rest 
Seems  to  shut  out  the  world's  distracting  power  ; 

Calm  as  a  summer  lake,  the  father's  breast 
Reflects  its  sweetness  o'er  the  evening  hour; 

And  as  his  lips  the  sacred  words  repeat, 

His  infant  prattlers  gather  round  his  feet. 

What  soft,  confiding  smiles  they  turn  on  him, 
Whilst  all  subdued  are  childhood's  joyous  tones  ; 

And  whispering  words  of  converse  pass  between 
The  Christian  parent  and  his  little  ones : 

The  theme  on  which  he  dwells,  redeeming  love; 

And  holy  feelings  thro'  the  circle  move. 

Oh  !  he  has  been  with  Jesus,  and  his  soul 
Beams  forth  in  every  meek,  yet  anxious  look ; 

And  learning  still  in  the  Redeemer's  school, 
He  feeds  his  lambs  from  God's  most  holy  book  ; 

And  as  he  turns  its  sacred  pages  o'er, 

Points  their  young  hearts  to  joys  that  die  no  more. 

14 


158  Twilight    Musings. 

The  book  is  closed,  the  servant  called,  and  now 

In  momentary  silence  all  prepare 
Before  the  mercy-seat  of  Heaven  to  bow, 

In  the  meek  attitude  of  solemn  prayer  : 
Angels  look  on,  and  Jesus  intercedes, 
While  the  fond  father  for  his  children  pleads. 

His  holy  fervors  in  devotion  rise, 

"While  there  in  faith,  he  brings  his  earthly  friends ; 
And  in  his  supplications  to  the  skies, 

His  glowing  praises  with  his  prayers  ascend  : 
Than  incense  sweeter  is  such  sacrifice 
To  Him  who  human  hearts  and  motives  tries. 

'Tis  o'er;  but  ere  they  seek  repose  once  more, 
As  they  arc  wont,  around  his  feet  they  kneel, 

And  with  one  voice  their  Maker's  help  implore, 
While  their  melodious  accents  o'er  me  steal: 

Soft  strains  of  music,  swelling  on  the  air, 

Bear  some  resemblance  to  their  infant  prayer 

They  rise,  and  lip  to  lip  is  fondly  pressed  ; 

The  father's  blessing  to  each  loved  one  given, 
Ere  they  retire  to  their  accustomed  rest, 

Where  they  repose,  so  richly  blessed  of  Heaven. 
Thrice  happy  children  !  early  thus  to  be 
Training  for  bliss  and  immortality. 

And  must  these  teuder  ties  be  severed  wide  ? 

And  must  the  grave  divide  each  human  heart, 
A  nd  those  who  loved  to  travel  side  by  side 

Be  called  at  last  to  speak  the  words,  "  We  part." 
The  skeptic  says,  "  We  part  to  meet  no  more;" 
But  Christian  hope  points  to  a  heavenly  shore. 


Twilight    Musings.  159 

I  would  not  be  a  skeptic,  thus  to  toss 

On  the  uncertain  sea  of  unbelief : 
No !  let  me  count  all  earthly  things  but  loss, 

Nor  think  of  parting  as  a  cause  of  grief, 
While  faith  securely  fastens  on  the  word 
Of  earth  and  Heaven's  Almighty  King  and  Lord. 

For  when  the  infidel  can  find  no  place 
To  rest  his  weary,  troubled  soul  upon, 

The  Christian  family  shall  face  to  face 

Behold  each  other  near  th'  eternal  throne, 

And  each  affection,  cleansed  from  earthly  stain, 

Centre  in  Christ,  the  Lamb  for  sinners  slain. 


%\t  loss  of  %  ^rttit. 

Toll  deep  the  mournful  bell ! 

In  solemn  stillness  bow; 
While  death's  funereal  pall 
Is  shrouding  hearth  and  hall 

Of  many  now. 

List  to  the  awful  tones  ! 

Whose  echo  ringing  still, 
From  the  deep  ocean's  tomb, 
Reaching  to  stricken  homes, 

With  horror  chills. 


160  Twilight   Musings. 

Flushed  high  with  human  hope, 

Joy  filled  each  throbbing  breast ; 
Bound  for  their  native  shore, 
Meetings  were  counted  o'er : 
Hope  made  them  blest. 

Keep  up  the  mighty  steam ! 

Onward  she  nobly  comes  : 
A  few  more  tardy  days ; 
A  few  more  hours  delay, 

We'll  be  at  home. 

These  were  the  joyful  thoughts 

Filling  each  buoyant  heart  j 
Unconscious  of  the  vail 
Hiding  death's  shadow  pale, 
So  near  his  dart. 

Oh,  sun  !  befriend  them  now  ! 

Ward  off  their  dreadful  fate ; 
Pierce  thou  the  foggy  clouds  ! 
Rend  thou  the  fearful  shroud, 

Ere  yet  too  late. 

What  was  the  awful  crash, 
Striking  the  vessel's  side  ? 

Alas  !  she's  filling  fast; 

Ah  !  can  this  living  mass 
This  blow  outride  ? 

Hark  !  'tis  the  midnight  cry, 
Heard  'mid  the  deep,  dark  sea : 


Twilight    Musings.  161 

"  Prepare  to  meet  thy  God  V 
Sotmded  thro'  all  the  crowd, 
So  fearfully. 

Seized  were  the  safety-boats 

By  hands  of  cruel  men ; 
And  woman's  helpless  form, 
And  childhood's  wild  alarm, 

Unheeded  then. 

A  few  brave  spirits  wrought 

With  the  bold  captain  well ; 
But  soon  the  raft  went  down, 
And  one  was  left  alone, 

The  tale  to  tell. 

Now  came  the  fearful  hour, 

When  the  last  hope  was  gone  : 
While  sad  farewells  were  spoke, 
And  parted  hearts  were  broke, 

The  ship  went  down. 

Some  household  groups  were  seen 

In  that  terrific  hour, 
Bound  in  a  grasp  of  love  : 
Ah  !  have  they  met  above, 

To  part  no  more  ? 

The  bride,  with  him  she  lov'd, 

Sunk  in  the  ocean's  wave ; 
The  honored  father's  form; 
The  wife,  with  heart  so  warm, 

Found  there  a  grave. 
14* 


162  Twilight    Musings. 

Ah  !  blessed  were  the  few, 

"Who,  in  that  solemn  hour, 
Could  see  with  upraised  eye, 
Above  the  murky  sky, 
Heav'n's  open  door. 

WTho  knew  that  Christ  was  theirs 

In  life,  in  death  the  same  : 
His  presence  'mid  the  wave 
Cheered  those  His  love  had  saved 
Thro'  His  great  name. 

Majestic  was  the  voice 
Of  God,  as  deep  it  rolled  ; 

Across  the  wave  'twas  heard; 

Its  awful  tones  have  stirred 
A  nation's  soul. 

Hush'd  was  the  busy  throng, 

E'en  'mong  the  marts  of  meu  j 
The  nation's  flag  drooped  low : 
All  ranks  have  felt  the  blow, 
And  mourned  for  them. 

That  voice  will  men  forget ; 

But  it  will  come  again  : 
In  the  dread  judgment  day, 
When  earth  shall  pass  away, 

Men  must  attend. 

Some  in  the  life-boat  safe ; 
Some  in  the  deep,  blue  wave  : 


Twilight   Musings.  163 

Parents  were  sundered  there ; 
Loved  ones  were  helpless,  where 
Man  could  not  save. 

Thus,  in  the  last  great  day, 

When  friends  again  shall  meet, 
Some  will  on  high  ascend, 
"Where  partings  ne'er  shall  rend 

Unions  so  sweet. 

Toll  deep  the  mournful  bell ! 

Weep  for  the  loved  and  lost  j 
Weep  for  the  Arctic  gone ; 
Weep  for  the  friends  entombed ; 

Toll  for  the  lost  ! 


aape  mts  &Mt. 

THE    ENGLISH    FACTORY  CHILD. 

On  a  dark  November  morn, 

While  the  clouds  were  dim  and  gray, 
In  an  English  hovel,  all  forlorn, 

A  dying  infant  lay. 
'Twas  a  hovel  dark  and  drear; 

No  light  of  Heaven  was  there ; 
Tho'  English  homes  were  very  near, 

None  for  the  sufferer  cared. 


164  Twilight    Musings. 

On  the  hearth  there  was  no  fire; 

On  the  shelf  there  was  no  bread ; 
And  the  mother's  hope  almost  expired 

As  she  pressed  the  aching  head. 
'Twas  a  poor  factory  child, 

Whose  earliest  infant  breath 
Had  all  been  wasted  in  endless  toil 

For  rags,  for  gin,  and  for  death. 

For  the  rose  had  never  bloomed 

Upon  the  with' ring  cheek  ; 
No  ray  had  ever  that  eye  illumed, 

Of  sweet  childish  mirth  to  speak. 
She  was  only  eight  years  old, 

And  yet  for  two  ling' ring  years, 
Thro'  hunger  and  sickness,  through  wet  and  cold, 

She  labored  for  bread  and  tears. 

She  lay  on  her  mother's  breast ; 

And  tho'  racked  with  weary  pain, 
Her  yearning  spirit  felt  this  is  rest, 

Sweet  rest  for  the  toiling  brain  : 
But  a  sickly  taper's  light 

Shone  feebly  through  the  room, 
As  her  eye  grew  dim  in  death's  dark  night, 

And  she  whispered,  "  Mother,  come. 

"  We  have  had  no  time  to  love, 

With  our  days  so  full  of  toil ; 
Oh !  sweet  will  it  be  in  Heaven  above, 

To  rest,  to  love,  and  to  smile. 
I  have  often  heard  the  birds 

As  they  sing  their  morning  song, 


Twilight    Musings.  1G5 

And  have  watched  the  lambs  and  lowing  herds 
And  oh !  how  much  I  have  long'd 

"  To  join  in  the  frisking  plays 

Of  youthful,  joyous  things ) 
But  torturing  work,  and  weary  days, 

Have  made  me  too  sad  to  sing. 
I  have  had  no  time  to  play  : 

My  limbs  are  all  drawn  awry ; 
And  I  feel  that  life  is  passing  away ; 

But  mother,  there's  time  to  die. 

"  No  more  shall  the  fact'ry  bell 

Call  me  from  my  cold,  hard  bed ; 
It  always  seemed  like  a  fun'ral  knell 

Pealing  its  notes  for  the  dead. 
I  am  grieved  to  say  farewell 

To  you,  and  to  Mary  dear, 
But  I  know  you'll  love  our  darling  well ; 

And  mother  my  last  words  hear. 

"  Oh  !  it  makes  me  very  sad 

To  see  little  Mary  grow ; 
For  soon  she'll  have  to  work  for  her  bread, 

Thro'  sleet,  and  darkness,  and  snow. 
Save  her  from  a  cruel  fate, 

Of  crime,  and  of  want  and  woe ; 
From  a  lot  more  sad  and  more  desolate 

Than  children  often  know. 

"  I  know  there  is  One  above, 
Who  sees  our  every  tear  j 


166  Twilight    Musings. 

Who  looks  on  us  with  an  eye  of  love ; 

Oh  !  then  wherefore  should  we  fear  ? 
But  I  think  when  I  get  home, 

It  will  take  me  long  to  rest ; 
Then  I'll  lay  me  down  in  blessed  peace 

Upon  my  Savior's  breast. 

"  And  then  I'll  sing  the  song 

Of  a  child  redeemed  from  sin : 
When  placed  in  Heaven,  the  saints  among, 

I'll  plume  my  angel's  wing  : 
And  sometimes,  when  day  is  done, 

If  Grod  will  let  me,  I'll  come 
And  watch  to  see  when  your  race  is  run, 

Then  bear  you  to  Heaven's  bright  home. 

"  There  rings  the  fact'ry  bell ! 

How  often  through  sleet  and  snow, 
Have  my  weary  footsteps  stumbling  fell, 

Urged  on  by  want  and  woe. 
Oh  !  with  what  a  weary  brain, 

Have  I  heard  the  shuttles  go  ! 
With  what  breaking  heart,  and  racking  pain, 

Have  I  bowed  my  head  so  low. 

"  'Mid  the  never  ceasing  hum, 

And  the  poisoned,  stifling  air ; 
Ah  !  this  has  been  my  childhood's  home, 

With  scarce  a  minute  for  prayer. 
In  the  middle  of  the  day, 

In  a  corner  of  the  room, 
'Mid  the  dust  and  dirt,  which  round  us  lay, 

We  devoured  our  scanty  crumbs. 


Twilight    Musings.  1G7 

"  'Mid  swearing  and  filthy  jests; 

'Mid  stenches  of  smoke  and  gin, 
With  terror  freezing  our  infant  breasts, 

We  inhaled  the  fumes  of  sin. 
Mother,  they  say  there's  a  Queen, 

And  nobles  who  rule  the  land  : 
I  wonder  if  they  have  ever  seen 

The  poor  little  factory  band  ? 

"  Why  don't  they  make  better  rules? 

And  give  to  the  poor  better  pay  ? 
Why  don't  they  send  us  to  infant  school, 

Instead  of  an  infant's  grave  ? 
Mother  my  toils  are  over ; 

I  scarcely  can  see  you  now : 
Kind  angels  round  my  death-bed  hover : 

Farewell !  to  Heaven  I  go." 

Thus  murmured  the  dying  one, 

As  echoed  the  morning  peal ; 
None  stopped  to  weep,  as  the  crowd  rushed  on, 

For  none  had  time  to  feel. 
In  the  early  morning  gray, 

When  the  hour  of  labor  comes, 
She  dropped  her  rags,  and  soared  away 

To  her  ransomed  spirit's  home. 

What  is  it  to  be  a  slave, 

In  the  midst  of  a  wealthy  laud  '( 
Let  England's  flag  not  dare  to  wave, 
Till  she  answers  the  working  man. 


168  Twilight    Musings. 

Till  the  brand  of  want  and  woe, 

Burned  deep  in  the  white  man's  brow, 

Is  felt  to  sink  him  in  depths  as  low 
As  his  sable  brother  now. 


(LJjcmoJjts  for  %  gibing. 

'•THE    NIGHT   IS    FAR   SPENT;    THE    DAY   IS    AT    HAND.* 

Now  to  live,  Oh,  how  momentous ! 

In  this  day  of  solemn  time,' 
When  such  heav'nly  signs  are  sent  us, 

Filling  us  with  thoughts  sublime. 
Words  we  speak  now,  make  their  impress 

On  some  soul,  for  good  or  ill, 
Whispered  on  the  air,  though  viewless, 

Years  may  pass,  they're  present  still. 

Like  to  words  by  diamonds  graven, 

Never  more  to  be  effaced, 
They  will  follow  us  to  Heaven, 

'Mid  its  records,  find  a  place. 
Life, — Oh  !  what  amazing  power 

Sounds  from  out  that  little  word ! 
Ah !  what  groans  o'er  wasted  hours 

In  the  pit  of  woe  are  heard. 

Life — 'tis  all  that  God  has  given, 
And  it  is  a  feeble  span; 


Twilight    Musings.  169 

'Tis  the  time  to  seek  for  Heaven; 

Do  not  waste  it — thoughtless  man  ! 
Precious  moments  are  too  fleeting, 

And  the  soul  is  all  too  grand 
To  be  sold  for  price  so  cheating, 

Up,  and  save  it — sinful  man ! 

To  the  eye  of  mortal  vision, 

Few  can  see  the  fearful  game, 
Which  with  smiles  of  cold  derision, 

Satan  plays  for  thy  own  name. 
All  around  us,  death  is  bearing 

Spirits  to  their  final  home  : 
Some  unwilling,  trembling,  fearing ; 

Some  unconscious  when  he  comes. 

On  each  cloud  that  floats  above  us, 

Souls  are  borne  by  angel  bands; 
Sweet  to  think,  that  angels  love  us ; 

Sweet  to  see  their  beck'ning  hand. 
We  are  wending,  we  are  wending, 

'Mid  the  ranks  that  throng  the  path; 
All  to  death  are  surely  tending, 

Some  to  glory,  some  to  wrath. 

Some  are  weaving,  some  are  weaving, 

With  their  hands,  their  spirit's  shroud ; 
Jesus  o'er  their  madness  grieving 

Treading  on,  their  footsteps  crowd. 
Think  not,  with  a  hope  deceiving, 

That  in  death,  the  soul  can  find 
All  that  comfort  in  believing, 

Sent  to  cheer  the  Christian  mind. 
15 


170  Twilight    Musings. 

Life's  the  season  blest  for  sowing ; 

What  is  sown,  that  shall  we  reap  : 
Life's  impressions  all  enduring, 

In  the  hour  of  death  we  keep. 
Death  is  not  the  field  of  battle, 

Ah,  too  great  the  hurry  there ! 
Fearful  sounds  around  us  rattle  : 

'Mid  such  scenes  can  we  prepare  ? 

Shall  we  snatch  the  Christian  armor  ? 

Can  we  gird  our  weapons  on  ? 
When  the  soul's  dread  foes  alarm  her, 

When  her  strength  is  almost  gone  ? 
Let  us  be  wise ;  life  yet  is  ours  : 

The  Spirit  knocks,  the  Savior  calls  : 
Let  us  improve  these  fleeting  hours, 

Ere  yet  the  curtain  o'er  us  falls. 

Our  conflicts  past,  life's  warfare  o'er, 

Death  shall  but  bring  us  sweet  repose ; 
The  warrior's  arms  we  need  no  more, 

For  then,  we  slay  our  mortal  foes. 
What  looks  like  vict'ry,  is  but  sleep ; 

What  looks  like  darkness,  is  a  beam 
Sent  out  from  Heav'n,  which  piercing  deep, 

Illumes  each  tomb,  though  dark  it  seems. 


Twilight    Musings.  171 


Spirit  Cfpmts. 

"he  giveth  songs  in  the  night." 

Bells  are  tolling  knells  of  sadness, 

In  the  spirit's  secret  cells  : 
Some  are  chiming  hymns  of  gladness, 

Soft  and  sweet  as  vesper  bells. 
When  the  heart  is  sad  and  lonely, 

And  the  world  is  black  with  gloom, 
Fun'ral  bells  are  tolling  only 

In  the  spirit's  darkened  home. 

Hours  there  are  so  dark  and  cheerless, 

Sometimes  felt  by  God's  own  child, 
When  the  tempest  raging  near  us, 

Swells  in  billows  fierce  and  wild. 
'Mid  that  tempest,  sweetly  chiming, 

Sound  the  unseen  spirit  bells, 
Ringing  hope,  tho'  hope's  declining, 

As  of  future  joys  they  tell. 

In  the  pilgrim's  trying  hour, 

When  the  tempter's  might  is  strong, 
Nerved  by  faith,  satanic  power 

Conquered  is,  by  God's  own  Son. 
Satan  flies,  and  angel  fingers 

Wake  the  softest,  sweetest  chimes  : 
Faint  at  first,  but  long  they  linger, 

Till  they  ring  in  fullest  time. 


172  Twilight  Musings. 

In  the  spirit's  parting  hour, 

When  'tis  leaving  all  below, 
Come  the  chimes,  with  soothing  power, 

Soft,  and  musical,  and  low. 
Toll  no  more  !  the  strife  is  over; 

Death  is  past,  the  vict'ry  won  : 
Heav'nly  hosts  there  kindly  hover  : 

Heav'nly  music  bears  him  home. 

Round  the  graves  of  saints  departed, 

Tho'  may  toll  the  funeral  bell, 
Sweeter  to  the  stricken-hearted, 

Are  the  chimes  which  softly  tell 
Of  the  blessed  sleep  which  Jesus 

Gives  to  His  beloved  ones, 
Till  the  morn  when  he  shall  take  us 

From  death's  slumber  to  our  crown. 

Christian  hearts  are  full  of  singing  : 

Chimes  are  there  for  darkest  hour ; 
E'en  thro'  midnight  watches  ringing 

Hymns  of  elevating  power. 
Silv'ry  chimes  of  sweetest  measure, 

Faint  and  feeble  tho'  they  be, 
Ring  in  Heaven  peals  of  pleasure, 

With  its  raptured  harmony. 


Twilight    Musings.  173 


e  lofotr  of  Sin. 


"  THE  STING  OF  DEATH  IS  SIN. 

Can  mortal  pen  describe 

Sin's  awful  power  ? 
Sprung  from  a  single  deed, 
Its  dark,  prolific  seed 

Destruction  showers. 

God's  presence  blessed  the  home 

Where  man  first  dwelt ; 
And  harmony  divine, 
With  God's  most  holy  mind, 
The  inmates  felt. 

Sin  came,  and  sowed  the  seed 

Of  woe  and  death  ; 
'Mid  bowers  once  so  fair, 
It  tainted  all  the  air 

With  poisoned  breath  : 

It  closed  the  open  gate 

To  mortal  eyes : 
It  drew  the  flaming  sword, 
And  banished  Eden's  lord 

From  Paradise. 

When  the  dark  deed  was  done, 
Fled  hope's  bright  star; 


15* 


174  Twilight   Musings. 

Like  harp-strings  rudely  crushed, 
As  o'er  them  demons  rushed, 
Earth  felt  the  jar. 

Sin  brought  the  first  deep  blush 
To  woman's  brow ; 

It  checked  her  joyful  tread; 

It  bowed  her  drooping  head 
In  anguish  low. 

It  placed  the  first  dark  frown 

On  G-od's  pure  brow : 
Thousands  of  years  ago 
Creation  felt  the  blow, 
And  feels  it  now. 

From  mortal  eyes  it  pressed 

The  first  sad  tear  \ 
Fountains  have  flowed  since  then, 
Wrung  by  the  woes  of  men. 
Thro'  weeping  years. 

Sin  laid  its  cruel  hand 

On  the  young  babe ; 
And  soon  its  cherished  form, 
Nurtured  by  love  so  warm, 
In  dust  is  laid. 

It  dug  the  first  dark  grave ; 

And  in  its  cell, 
FelPd  by  a  brother's  blow, 
Mourned  with  deep  speechless  woe, 

A  martyr  fell. 


Twilight    Musings.  175 

It  sunk  the  pit  of  woe, 

For  sinners  lost ; 
The  worm  that  never  dies, 
The  flames  that  ever  rise, 

Proclaim  its  cost. 

Its  cry  was  heard  in  Heaven, 

And  boundless  grace 
Brought  from  his  bright  abode, 
The  blessed  Son  of  God, 

To  save  our  race. 

It  placed  the  crown  of  thorns 

On  Jesus'  brow ; 
It  pierced  His  bleeding  side, 
And  Jesus  crucified 

Felt  its  keen  blow. 

Oh,  mystery  of  love  ! 

Soon  as  man  fell, 
The  blessed  word  forgive, 
"  Let  man  the  sinner  live," 

Through  Heaven  swell'd. 


%\t  Wm\  of  %  Cross. 

"eloi,  eloi,  lama  sabachtani." 

From  earth  retreating,  my  Savior  meeting, 
I  would  be  found  where  Jesus  prostrate  lies; 


176  Twilight    Musings. 

This  awful  groaning,  for  me  atoning, 
O  !  let  me  weeping,  listen  to  his  cries. 

To  Calv'ry  wending,  while  crowds  attending, 

Fd  sit  with  those  who  stayed  to  watch  him  there 

The  mob  despising,  few  sympathizing, 

While  wails  of  anguish  filled  the  sighing  air. 

What  human  language,  can  paint  the  anguish, 

Which  those  beheld,  who  near  the  Savior  stood  ? 
The  mob  tempestuous,  the  jeer  contemptuous, 

All  heap'd  upon  the  dying  Lamb  of  God. 
In  air  suspended,  by  few  befriended, 

While  criminals  were  hung  on  either  side. 
Deep  degradation  !  Oh  !  must  salvation, 

Be  purchas'd  by  our  Lord  thus  crucified  ? 

Deep  shadows  falling,  stout  hearts  appalling, 

A  veil  of  darkness  covers  all  around ; 
A  cry  heart-rending,  to  Heav'n  ascending, 

From  off"  the  cross  sends  out  a  piercing  sound. 
By  God  forsaken,  by  demons  shaken, 

The  cry  of  Eloi,  in  anguish  wails ; 
These  cries  appalling,  on  God  loud  calling, 

While  all  the  pow'rs  of  hell  his  soul  assail. 

While  anguish  pining,  life  fast  declining, 

The  dying  sufferer  whispers  low — "I  thirst:" 
Demons  retiring,  Jesus  expiring, 

While  "  It  is  finished,"  from  his  lips  then  burst. 
The  earth  is  quaking,  the  rocks  are  shaking, 

The  temple's  sacred  vail  is  rent  in  twain  : 
Dead  saints  appearing,  to  many  fearing, 

All  testifying  that  a  God  was  slain. 


Twilight  Musings.  177 

With  Jesus  weeping,  this  vigil  keeping, 

0!  let  me  hate  the  sins  which  nail'd  him  there, 
On  Jesus  dying,  my  soul  relying, 

O  !  I  would  learn  his  blessed  cross  to  bear. 
While  Calv'ry's  moaning,  for  sin  atoning, 

0  !  let  me  not  by  wilful  sjn  pierce  him ; 
But  by  the  power,  of  that  dark  hour, 

May  I  be  crucified  to  self  and  sin. 

Good  Friday,  1850. 


"THE    GRACE  OP  OUR   LORD    JESUS  CHRIST,  AND    THE    LOVE    OP  GOD,  AND  THE 
FELLOWSHIP  OF  THE  HOLY  GHOST  BE  WITH  YOU  ALL  EVERMORE."      AMEX. 

When  the  gospel  notes  are  fading, 

On  the  still  and  solemn  air, 
While  a  breathless  awe  prevading, 

Tells  that  God  is  present  there ; 
In  such  hours  of  calm  reflection, 

'Mid  the  house  of  holy  prayer, 
Comes  the  voice  of  benediction, 

Sweet  as  angel  whispers  are. 

Floating  down  from  clouds  celestial, 
When  the  soul  is  bowed  with  care ; 

When  the  weight  of  things  terrestrial, 
Almost  drowns  the  voice  of  prayer. 

In  such  hours  of  deep  dejection, 
From  the  distant  vaults  of  Heav'n, 


178  Twilight    Musings. 

Comes  the  voice  of  benediction, 
Whisp'ring  sweet  of  sins  forgiv'n. 

In  the  hour  of  blest  communion, 

Sitting  at  the  Savior's  feet, 
Feasting  there  in  heavenly  union, 

While  around*  his  board  we  meet. 
Breathing  sighs  of  deep  contrition, 

While  we  bend  so  lowly  there; 
Oh  !  how  sweet  the  benediction, 

Breathed  upon  us  after  prayer. 

In  sad  hours  of  deep  affliction, 

'Mid  the  hidings  of  G-od's  face, 
Oft  descends  the  benediction, 

Wafted  on  a  gale  of  grace. 
Like  the  wind-harp's  airy  music, 

Soft  and  low,  mysterious,  sweet, 
Sweeping  o'er  the  spirit's  harp-strings 

Notes,  which  language  ne'er  repeats. 

When  life's  burning  toils  are  over, 

And  its  deserts  nearly  past ; 
While  around  the  dying  hover 

Angels  watching  to  the  last ; 
In  this  mortal,  deep  affliction, 

Soft  as  vesper  breezes  are, 
Comes  the  sweetest  benediction, 

When  we  bid  adieu  to  care. 

When  by  sister  angels  carried, 
We  arrive  in  sight  of  home, 

While  the  hosts  of  blessed  spirits, 
Crowd  to  meet  us,  as  we  come. 


Twilight   Musings.  179 

Jesus'  face,  to  Christians  dearest/ 

Beams  upon  each  ransom'd  child, 
'Tis  itself  a  benediction  : 

Shall  we  bask  beneath  its  smile  ? 


abtatjj  Jipui. 


Come,  come,  come, 

Come  to  the  house  of  God ; 
The  Spirit  sweetly  calls, 
To  rest  in  his  abode. 
Come  in  the  morning  hour, 

The  shades  of  night  are  gone, 
The  sun  shines  on  the  flow'rs, 
And  the  weekly  toil  is  done. 
'Tis  the  blessed  Sabbath  morn; 

'Tis  the  day  of  sacred  rest, 
Sweet  hour !  come,  return, 
With  rest  for  weary  brea.-t.-. 

Come,  come,  come,  &c, 
The  birds  more  sweetly  sing ; 

Cattle  more  gently  low, 
And  every  living  thing, 

Should  Sabbath  blessings  knu\r: 
But  man,  ungrateful  man  ! 

To  whom  this  rest  is  giv'n, 
With  vain  and  wicked  hands 

Squanders  the  day  of  Hcav'n 


180  Twilight  Musings. 

Come,  coine,  come,  &c, 
Stillness  is  on  the  air, 

And  hush'd  the  busy  hum 
Of  labor,  come  to  prayer  : 

Come  children,  softly  come. 
Quiet  is  in  the  sky, 

And  naught  but  Sabbath  bells 
Is  heard,  sweet  chiming  nigh, 

Of  rest,  and  peace  to  tell. 

Come,  come,  come,  &c, 
Rest  for  the  weary  sons 

Of  earthly  toil  and  care, 
Rest  for  the  sufFring  ones, 

Who  heavy  burdens  bear. 
Rest  breathes  on  all  around ; 

E'en  the  ripple  on  the  wave, 
Seems  softer  still  to  sound, 

When  the  shore  it  gently  laves. 

Come,  come,  come,  &c, 
The  soul  on  soaring  wing 

Enjoys- this  blessed  day; 
But  alas  !  for  earthly  things, 

They  vanish  soon  away. 
But  we'll  raise  our  longing  eyes 

To  rest,  and  peace  in  Heav'n, 
Where  the  Sabbath  sun  ne'er  dies, 

'Mid  the  gath'ring  shades  of  even. 

Come,  come,  come,  &c. 
Where  earthly  chimes  no  more, 
Strike  on  the  spirit's  ear, 


Twilight   Musings.  181 

Where  strains  unearthly  pour, 

Along  the  heav'nly  sphere. 
No  quick  returning  cares ; 

No  fleeting  Sabbath  joys ; 
But  rest,  unmark'd  by  years, 

And  bliss  without  alloy. 


Crust  in  (Hoh. 

Give  to  the  winds  thy  fears, 

Thy  doubts  unto  the  deep ; 
Fling  to  the  ocean  all  thy  tears, 

And  lull  thy  cares  to  sleep. 
For  while  to  God  is  given 

The  incense  of  the  heart, 
There's  no  good  gift  on  earth,  or  Heav'n, 

In  which  thou  hast  no  part. 


Christian:  gtatjj. 

"  O,  GRAVE   WHERE   IS   THY   STING,    0,  DEATH   WHERE  IS    THY  VICTORY. 

Death  is  the  last  dark  cloud 

Of  mortal  life ; 
Hanging  its  heavy  pall 
Alike  o'er  hut  and  hall ; 

Ending  its  strife. 
16 


182  Twilight  Musings. 

Like  clouded  even-tide 
Setting  in  gloom, 
Still  ush'ring  coming  day, 
Driving  night's  shades  away, 
From  the  dark  tomb. 

'Tis  the  mysterious  vail, 

Suddenly  raised, 
Revealing  to  the  sight, 
Radiant  with  glory  bright, 
Heaven's  holy  place. 

'Tis  the  last  peaceful  couch, 
Where  sweetly  dies 

Mortal's  last  sigh  of  dread ; 

Where  the  last  tear  is  shed 
By  weeping  eyes. 

7Tis  the  grand  vestibule 

Where  spirits  meet : 
Dark  demons  fly  away, 
While  angels  point  the  way  ; 
Joyful  to  greet 

Another  ransomed  soul, 

No  more  to  roam  : 
With  joy  they  welcome  him, 
Where  saint  and  seraphim 
Bid  him  come  home. 

Death  is  the  hall  of  art, 

Where  heav'nly  skill, 
Remoulds  each  crumbled  form, 
Clothes  them  with  vigor  warm, 
By  mighty  will. 


Twilight    Musings.  183 

'Tis  the  deep,  awful  calm, 

Where  silent  crowds, 
Await  the  trumpet's  blast, 
"Where  every  form  shall  haste 

To  drop  its  shroud. 

'Tis  the  great  Master's  seal, 

Which  safely  keeps, 
Its  watch  and  ward  o'er  those, 
Who  safe  from  ghostly  foes, 

In  Jesus  sleep. 

It  is  the  fruitful  field, 

Where  hidden  seed, 
Corrupts,  and  turns  to  dust, 
As  every  atom  must, 

By  God  decreed, 

Till  on  the  reaping  day, 

When  seed  thus  sown, 
Shall  burst  in  glorious  forms, 
With  youth  immortal  warm, 

With  glory  crowned. 

On  a  dark  ebon  throne, 

Death  sits  in  state, 
Dealing  his  mighty  blows, 
Bringing  the  haughty  low, 

The  poor,  the  great. 

With  deep,  unerring  hate, 

He  aimed  a  blow 
E'en  at  the  Son  of  God, 
And  while  his  life-blood  flowed, 

Earth  felt  the  throe. 


184  Twilight    Musings. 

Death  then,  had  conquered  Christ, 

And  bowed  his  head ; 
But  King  of  death,  He  rose, 
And  vanquished  our  worst  foe, 
And  "  Death  is  dead." 

On  the  triumphant  day 

When  Jesus  comes, 
Chained  to  his  chariot-wheel, 
Satan  shall  anguished  feel 
His  awful  doom. 

Oh  !  what  a  triumph  that ! 

When  millions  come 
Victorious  o'er  the  grave, 
Thro'  Him  whose  love  had  saved 

And  brought  them  home. 


W$  Bma  of  Spring. 

The  skies  of  spring  are  here, 

I  see  them  bright  and  clear, 
Her  soul  awak'ning  voice  is  on  the  air; 

The  clouds  of  heav'nly  blue, 

Fresh  tints  of  varied  hue, 
Are  gleaming  round  my  footsteps  every  where. 

Over  the  deep  blue  sea, 
Whisp'ring  thro'  forest  trees, 
Singing  her  sweetest  songs  on  breezy  hill  j 


Twilight    Musings.  185 

Softly  she  calls  to  me ; — 
In  echoes  full  and  free, 
The  depths  within,  are  answ'ring  to  her  still. 

In  days  of  "  anld  lang  syne," 

When  this  young  heart  of  mine 
Was  filled  with  rapture,  in  the  spring's  sweet  light, 

Ah  !  then  a  budding  flow'r, 

Possessed  the  wondrous  pow'r, 
Of  flooding  all  my  spirit  with  delight. 

In  the  cool  shady  dell, 

Where  lowly  violets  dwell, 
Her  notes  of  melody  were  softly  heard ; 

Or  where  the  lily  fair, 

With  fragrance  filled  the  air, 
Songs  of  the  spring-time,  in  my  bosom  stirr'd. 

Ah  !  then  her  voice  so  clear, 

Brought  joyous  visions  near, 
But  they  were  all  of  earth  \  and  born  to  die ; 

The  future  then  so  bright, 

So  distant  then,  the  night, 
No  cloud  obscured  in  youth,  the  beauteous  sky. 

On  the  bright,  sunny  sky, 

What  pictures  met  the  eye, 
Painted  by  Hope's  enchanted  pencil  fair; 

But  they  have  fled  away  : — 

In  realms  of  upper  day, 
In  riper  age,  Faith  paints  her  pictures  there. 
16* 


186  Twilight    Musings. 

Her  voice  is  round  me  still, 

O'er  the  same  distant  hill, 
It  comes  with  notes  as  joyous  as  of  yore; 

Hope  plumes  again  her  wings, 

Now  loftily  she  sings 
Of  blissful  scenes,  beyond  this  mortal  shore. 

She  comes  with  her  fair  flowr's, 

Her  cool  refreshing  show'rs, 
Her  bright  and  vivid  green,  her  balmy  breath ; 

All  sleeping  plants  she  wakes 

From  their  deep  sleep,  and  shakes 
All  nature,  from  the  wintry  couch  of  death. 

All  but  the  sleeping  dead  : 

Her  buoyant  earnest  tread 
Is  waking  verdant  blossoms,  where  they  sleep ; 

The  song  of  happy  birds 

Around  their  grave  is  heard, 
No  earthly  spring,  can  break  their  slumbers  deep. 

Still  let  thy  highest  notes, 
Sweet  spring  !  above  them  float, 

For  thou  art  chanting  a  majestic  strain, 
Of  that  eternal  spring, 
Which  Jesus  then  shall  bring, 

When  death  is  dead,  and  youth  returns  again. 

Thy  grass  so  fresh  and  green ; 

Thy  skies  with  smile  serene  ; 
Thy  beauteous  flowers  which  around  me  stand ; 

Thy  gently  flowing  streams  ; 

All  to  my  fancy  seems 
Like  speaking  pictures  of  the  better  land. 


Twilight   Musings.  187 

Earth's  wintry  days  are  past ; 

Eternal  spring  at  last 
Shall  call  the  sleepers  from  their  lowly  tomb  : 

The  parted,  face  to  face 

Shall  meet  in  close  embrace, 
"When  Jesus  for  his  own  beloved  comes. 


FOR   MR.   J ,    AND    MISS    C.    B . 

My  mother !  can  it  be  that  thou  hast  left  me  ? 

And  must  I  tread  this  wilderness  alone  ? 
Ah  !  death,  of  what  a  friend  hast  thou  bereft  me, 
Since  she  has  gone. 

In  the  soft  ev'ning  hour,  then  I  miss  thee, 

When  bending  round  a  Father's  throne  of  grace, 
Ere  to  my  couch  retiring,  I  would  kiss  thee. 
Thy  vacant  place 

Draws  from  my  heart  deep  sighs  of  bitter  anguish ; 

Yet  oft  I  watch  for  thee,  at  op'ning  door, 
Ah,  me  !  those  home  delights  for  which  I  languish, 
Can  come  no  more. 

Thou  wert  to  me,  a  friend  most  fondly  cherished : 

Thy  sweet  affection  was  a  boundless  deep 
Of  priceless  treasures,  gone  alas  !  and  perished. 
Earth  could  not  keep 


188  Twilight  Musings. 

My  mother  from  her  Savior's  blessed  mansion, 

When  her  kind  angel  said,  "  Come  up  on  high  f 
In  the  rapt  prospect  of  the  soul's  expansion, 
'Twas  bliss  to  die. 

Over  my  infant  days  I  see  thee  tending, 

Around  my  cradle-bed,  I  hear  thee  still; 
On  through  my  riper  years,  thy  love  defending 
From  every  ill. 

How  can  I  dwell  on  earth,  without  my  mother? 
How  can  I  wander  through  our  lonely  halls  ? 
Love  so  profound  and  sweet,  can  e'er  another, 
Such  bliss  recall  ? 

And  must  we  round  the  table  sit  in  sadness  ? 

Where  her  mild  eye  on  us  so  kindly  beamed, 
Ready  to  join  in  all  our  hours  of  gladness, 

Ah  !  blissful  dreams  ! 

Not  vanished  quite;  for  ours  was  heav'nly  union, 

In  thought,  in  hope,  in  aim  we  all  were  one, 
In  the  sweet  rapture  of  the  saint's  communion. 
We  yet  pass  on 

To  the  blest  land,  which  she  has  reached  forever ; 

She  has  but  gone  before — in  Christ  asleep, 
And  we  shall  meet  again — to  part — no,  never  ! 
Then  wherefore  weep  ? 

A  few  more  years  when  we  have  reached  the  river 

Which  separates  believers  from  their  Lord, 
Tho'  its  cold  waves  may  make  our  spirit's  shiver 
We'll  cross  the  ford, 


Twilight    Musings.  189 

And  then,  once  more,  the  band  so  sadly  severed, 

Shall  in  the  rapture  of  a  fond  embrace, 
Then  with  the  Savior  meet,  to  dwell  forever 
There,  face  to  face. 


"fjouwj  Ulan,  |  sag  unto  %e,  %xm." 

ADDRESSED   TO   MY  FORMER   PUPILS. 

Young  man,  arise  !  God's  message  calls  thee  now, 

Early  in  life,  to  choose  the  better  part ; 
Now,  while  the  dew  of  youth  is  on  thy  brow, 

And  its  warm  blood  is  coursing  through  thy  heart. 
When  the  world  beckons  thee,  with  witching  smile, 

And  strews  thy  path  with  pleasure's  rosy  flowers; 
When  it  would  seek  thy  fancy  to  beguile, 

And  waste  in  empty  mirth,  thy  precious  hours. 

Young  man,  arise  !  and  scorn  to  be  the  slave 

Of  sin  and  Satan,  grov'lling  in  the  dust; 
Bury  the  world  deep  in  an  early  grave, 

And  seek  thy  joys  with  souls  of  heav'nly  birth. 
Those  silken  fetters  cast  from  off  thy  feet ; 

Pant  for  an  atmosphere  of  purer  love, 
And  thou  shalt  find,  how  blessed  and  how  sweet, 

Are  sympathies,  which  lift  thy  soul  above. 

Young  man,  arise  !  and  gird  thine  armor  on, 
For  thou  hast  need  in  such  a  treach'rous  world, 


190  Twilight    Musings. 

Where  thou  must  in  the  Christian  race  now  run, 
Or  see  thy  hopes  of  Heaven,  to  ruin  hurled. 

Not  'gainst  the  enemies  of  flesh  and  blood, 

Must  thou,  young  soldier,  clad  in  armor  stand ; 

Thy  foes  are  mighty,  hard  to  be  subdued, 

And  thou  must  meet  them,  fighting  hand  to  hand. 

Young  man,  arise  !  and  let  thy  youthful  loins 

Be  girded  up  with  truth's  supporting  zone, 
And  take  the  breast-plate  which  the  Lord  enjoins, 

Bright  with  the  righteousness,  from  Christ  brought  down. 
Shod  with  the  sandals  strong  of  gospel  peace ; 

Thus  may  thy  feet  with  firmer  footstep  tread ; 
And  hope  of  final  triumph  never  cease 

To  be  the  helmet,  worn  upon  thy  head. 

Young  man,  arise  !  and  grasp  the  shield  of  faith 

With  a  strong  hand,  nor  ever  let  it  fall ; 
It  will  defend,  e'en  to  the  gates  of  death ; 

And  by  its  brightness  all  thy  foes  appal. 
Draw  from  its  scabbard,  the  well-tempered  sword 

As  a  strong  weapon  to  defend  thy  soul, 
No  hellish  foe  can  battle  down  the  word, 

Sharper  than  two-edged  sword,  sin  to  control. 

Young  man,  arise  !  thus  clad  in  armor  stand, 

And  march  with  steadfast  tramp  along  the  road 
Which  they  have  trod,  who  now  at  God's  right  hand, 

Triumphant  wave  the  banner,  bought  with  blood. 
The  clang  of  ringing  armor  there  shall  cease  ; 

The  helmet  to  the  crown,  shall  then  give  way 
There  palms  of  vict'ry,  and  the  kiss  of  peace 

Shall  bless  the  victor,  in  eternal  day. 


Twilight    Musings.  191 


Cjje  Unfortunate. 

"yes,  push  him  down." 

When  smiling  fair  prosperity, 

Upon  our  steps  attends, 
Ah  !  then  in  gay  and  flatt'ring  troops, 

Come  crowds  of  gracious  friends. 
Alas  !  for  human  charity, 

Let  Providence  but  frown, 
How  oft  their  actions  seem  to  say, 
We'll  push  him,  push  him  down. 

Yes,  push  him  down,  O,  push  him  down, 

For  he  's  an  idle  man, 
Or  surely  he  would  prosper  now, 
Alone  we'll  let  him  stand. 

True,  once  he  was  a  noble  soul, 

With  open,  gen'rous  hand, 
Ready  with  kindly  benefits, 

To  aid  his  brother  man. 
But  let  the  current  of  his  life 

Cease  to  flow  smoothly  on, 
Then  oft  the  very  friends  he  served, 

By  coldness,  push  him  down. 
Yes,  push  him  down,  &c. 

With  pride's  strong  magnifying  glass, 

How  many  faults  are  seen, 
Which  in  the  days  of  smiling  wealth, 

Behind  a  friendly  screen 


192  Twilight   Musings. 

Were  hidden  from  the  sycophants, 
Who  now  have  faithless  flown. 

Ah !  little  think  the  reckless  crowd, 
How  fast  they  push  him  down. 
Yes,  push  him  down,  &c. 

Oh,  yes,  he  was  extravagant ; 

This  is  the  thoughtless  cry 
Kaised  by  the  heartless  multitude, 

Who  pass  him  coldly  by. 
'Tis  true  his  noble  nature  bleeds  j 

That  in  the  world  alone, 
He  now  must  bear  the  cruelty 

Of  those  who  push  him  down. 
Yes,  push  him  down,  &c. 

He's  nothing  left  but  his  good  name, 

But  what  is  that  to  those 
Who  never  knew  the  bitterness 

Of  poverty's  deep  woes  ? 
How  ruthlessly  they  scan  him  now, 

With  natures  hard  as  stone, 
By  word,  and  look,  and  cutting  sneer, 

Pushing  the  poor  man  down. 
Yes,  push  him  down,  &c. 

Oh  !  give  him  but  a  helping  hand, 
A  kind  and  cordial  word, 

More  precious  to  the  sinking  heart, 
Than  miser's  golden  hoard. 

Oh  !  do  not  by  a  thoughtless  word, 
Or  sneer  so  lightly  thrown, 


Twilight  Musings.  193 

E'er  break  the  bruised,  the  bleeding  heart : 
Oh  !  do  not  push  him  down. 
Yes,  push  him  down,  &c. 

The  value  of  a  brother's  love 

You  cannot  fully  know, 
Till  you  have  sunk  beneath  the  weight 

Of  sorrow's  crushing  blow. 
A  smile  to  him,  a  word  of  hope, 

Will  raise  him  from  the  ground  : 
Ah !  do  not  then  by  cold  neglect, 

Push  your  poor  brother  down. 
Yes,  push  him  down,  &c. 

The  Savior  bids  his  followers 

Each  other's  burdens  bear ; 
It  lightens  half  the  misery 

Of  overwhelming  care. 
Then,  shall  we  not  with  Christian  love, 

Bless  him  with  loving  tones  ? 
Or  like  the  empty,  mocking  world, 

Neglectful,  push  him  down. 
Yes,  push  him  down,  &c. 


17 


THE  CHILDREN'S  CORNER. 


(Srwtmgs  to  %fomt  ®m. 

To  dearest  little  Lucy,  and  loving-hearted  Nett ; 
To  the  merry  little  prattler,  and  our  darling  absent  pet : 
I  would  send  my  kindly  greetings  with  a  very  tender  kiss, 
And  bid  you  both  be  quiet,  if  you  can,  while  reading  this. 

I  received  your  invitation  to  the  Concert,  and  I'm  sure 
If  Cinderella's  fairy  could  have  brought  me  to  your  door, 
I  should  have  come  with  gladness,  but  she  never  called  for  me ; 
And  so  I  had  to  stay  at  home  and  be  content,  you  see. 

i 

But  if  I  had  been  there  my  dears,  I  fear  I  should  have  run 
To  join  the  warblers  out  of  doors;  that  might  have  spoiled  the 

fun; 
For  mamma  told  me  such  a  tale  about  their  moonlight  song, 
I  fear  I  should  have  left  you  all  to  join  their  happy  throng. 

And  yet  it  would  be  very  sweet  to  hear  Nett's  lively  notes, 
And  little  Lucy's  lisping  song,  which  thro'  my  mem'ry  floats; 
0,  may  the  deeper  tones  which  sound  from  out  your  youthful 

hearts, 
Be  tuned  to  heav'nly  music,  such  as  love  to  God  imparts. 


196  Twilight   Musings. 

I  think  I  see  you,  Nettie,  with  your  bounding  step  of  glee, 
Tripping  about  among  the  flowers,  like  a  honey-seeking  bee ; 
I  hope  you're  just  as  busy,  when  the  hour  of  study  conies, 
In  gath'ring  stores  of  knowledge,  in  your  highly  favored  home. 

And  when  your  daily  tasks  are  done,  just  like  a  happy  bird, 
I  see  you  flitting  all  about,  where'er  their  notes  are  heard; 
I  hear  your  laugh  of  merriment,  I  see  your  face  of  joy, 
Alas  !  that  aught  should  ever  come,  its  brightness  to  destroy. 

Dear  Nettie,  plant  a  garden  within  your  youthful  breast, 

Of  sweetest  flowers,  and  healing  plants,  and  bowers  of  peaceful 

rest, 
With  fountains  of  o'erflowing  joy,  and  rivers  of  delight, 
To  cheer  you  'mid  the  darkest  hours  of  life's  approaching 

night. 

In  early  youth,  pluck  out  the  weeds  of  deep  indwelling  sin ; 
Break  up  the  hard  and  fallow  ground,  and  plant  your  seeds 

within  : 
Seeds  which  will  yield  a  harvest,  of  peace,  and  joy,  and  love, 
Which  will  fit  you,  dearest,  for  this  world,  and  for  the  one 

above. 

To  prattling  little  Lucy,  I  now  must  say  good-bye, 
When  mamma  says,  "No,  no," — I  hope  she  does  not  cry; 
I  hope  that  she  is  very  good,  and  very  happy  too ; 
Once  more  good-bye,  dear  Lucy,  mamma,  and  Nettie  too. 

As  Nett  and  Lucy's  loving  friend,  you  always  must  believe 

her, 
Who  signs  herself  II.  M.,  or  Harriet  B.  McKeever. 


Twilight  Musings.  197 


Christmas  Gratings. 

A  happy,  happy  Christmas  ! 

My  heart  would  wish  for  thee  : 
Surrounded  by  the  friends  thou  lov'st, 

'Mid  the  glow  of  youthful  glee. 

A  happy,  happy  journey ! 

With  the  Savior  for  thy  friend; 
Through  this  world  of  sin  and  sorrow, 

To  the  land  where  sorrows  end. 

In  every  grace  improving, 
As  thy  years  so  swiftly  run, 

Oh  !  thus  prepare  for  blissful  days, 
In  the  world  beyond  the  tomb. 

A  happy,  happy  New  Year ! 

Full  of  hope  and  holy  joy, 
With  thy  young  heart  fixed  on  Heav'n, 

May'st  thou  scorn  each  earthly  toy. 

Thus,  thus  thy  friend  would  wish  thee, 
With  all  thy  heart  holds  dear, 

A  bright  and  cheerful  Christmas, 
With  a  truly  blest  New- Year. 


198  Twilight   Musings. 


g*  mg  fiiilt  Jfrratk 


CHRISTMAS-EVE. 


What  shall  I  wish  thee, 

My  dear  little  friend  ? 
Plenty  of  pennies,  [ 

On  good  things  to  spend  ? 
Shall  I  wish  that  Kriskingle, 

When  thou  art  asleep, 
Shall  near  to  thy  bedside, 

So  silently  creep  ? 

Will  this  make  thee  happy  ? 

When  Christmas  is  here, 
Should  he  bring  thee  in  plenty, 

All  kinds  of  good  cheer  ? 
Ah  !  no,  I  would  wish 

That  thy  Savior  may  come, 
In  his  goodness  and  mercy, 

To  guide  thee  safe  home. 

I  would  wish  thee  a  bright, 

Cheerful  Christmas,  my  dear; 
And  with  those  who  love  thee, 

A  happy  New-Year ! 
If  thou  would'st  be  happy, 

Be  good,  my  dear  child : 
Be  loving,  obedient, 

Be  gentle  and  mild. 


Twilight   Musings. 

From  a  merry  sprite, 
On  this  Christmas  night, 

I  think  you  scarce  can  tell  her ; 
Who  signs  her  name, 
The  very  same, 

As  Walter  Scott's  Fennella. 


FROM    THE  GERMAN. 
NONE   TOO    POOR   TO  DO  GOOD. 

There  dwelt  in  the  country  a  poor  little  maid ; 
One  Sunday  to  church,  her  young  footsteps  had  strayed, 
And  sadly  she  listened,  her  spirit  bowed  down, 
To  the  pastor's  kind  words,  in  deep,  earnest  tones : 
"  If  you,  my  dear  children,  would  wish  to  please  God, 
Though  poor  your  condition,  and  mean  your  abode, 
You  still  have  one  talent,  which  you  can  improve ; 
'Tis  a  hand  that  can  help  in  the  labors  of  love." 

Poor  Amy  (mistaken)  sat  weeping  alone ; 
No  good  she'd  accomplished,  no  great  action  done; 
For  she  felt  in  her  heart  that  she  was  so  poor 
That  she  never  could  do  any  good,  she  was  sure. 
The  poor  little  maiden,  with  heart  so  forlorn, 
Laid  down  by  a  rose-bush,  all  wearied  and  worn, 
Where  dusty  the  leaves,  and  faded  the  flowers, 
They  seemed  to  be  sighing  for  soft  summer  showers. 


200  Twilight  Musings. 

Soon  gently  her  footsteps  were  rapidly  going 
To  where  a  cool  streamlet  was  noiselessly  flowing; 
She  patiently  washed  every  withering  leaf, 
The  cool,  dripping  water  brought  speedy  relief : 
Then  the  rose-bush  revived,  and  the  flowers  looked  up 
With  a  bright,  rosy  smile,  as  she  watered  each  cup : 
She  smiled  back  in  return,  and  wiped  off  the  tear, 
Revived  by  the  whisper  breathed  soft  in  her  ear. 

Then  onward  she  walked  to  her  desolate  home, 

By  the  side  of  the  brook  whence  the  water  had  come ; 

And  almost  she  envied  the  bright,  silver  stream, 

"Which  back  to  the  flowers  had  brought  life's  fresh  beam  : 

While  watching  the  water,  she  spied  a  large  stone, 

Which  hindered  the  streamlet  from  flowing  along  : 

Its  prattling,  so  sparkling  and  merry,  was  gone ; 

She  stopped,  deeply  musing — "  What's  now  to  be  done  ?" 

So  down  in  the  stream  with  her  bare  little  feet 
She  waded,  resolving  that  if  it  were  meet 
To  move  the  great  obstacle,  it  should  be  done, 
And  then  the  clear  stream  could  dance  merrily  on  : 
And  long  she  endeavored  the  stone  to  remove ; 
At  last,  on  the  bank  she  had  placed  it  above, 
Then  onward  so  gaily,  the  sportive  stream  rushed, 
Till  deep  in  the  ocean  its  babblings  were  hushed. 

Its  musical  murmurings  sang  a  sweet  song 

Of  thanks  to  the  maid,  as  it  rippled  along'; 

She  thought  of  the  rose,  and  the  stream  she  had  blessed, 

And  joy's  flutt'ring  pinions  were  stirred  in  her  breast. 

Still  onward  she  journeyed,  and  under  a  tree 

At  the  door  of  a  cottage,  what  should  she  see 


Twilight   Musings.  201 

But  a  sick  little  child,  whose  mother  had  gone 
To  glean  in  the  wheat-fields,  and  left  him  alone. 

But  ere  she  departed,  she  made  a  small  toy 

To  amuse,  while  alone,  her  sick  little  boy  : 

'Twas  a  wind-mill  with  sails,  which  stirred  by  the  breeze, 

Had  oft  in  her  absence  the  little  one  pleased. 

The  wind  lulled  to  silence,  not  e'en  a  slight  breeze 

Moved  softly  a  leaflet  among  the  tall  trees, 

The  sails  of  the  wind-mill  amused  now  no  more 

The  sad  little  boy,  by  the  low  cottage  door. 

Now  over  the  hedge,  to  the  child  so  forlorn, 
Amy  bounded  so  quick,  that  her  dress  was  all  torn ; 
And  soon  by  his  side,  falling  down  on  her  knees, 
She  supplied  from  her  lips  a  kind,  loving  breeze ; 
Then  quickly  the  sails  were  in  motion  again  j 
The  child  in  his  pleasure,  forgot  all  his  pain, 
Then  clapping  his  hands  as  sweet  Amy  appears, 
His  smiles  all  return,  and  dried  are  his  tears. 


With  playful  endearments,  and  patience  untired, 
Unwearied  she  knelt,  with  a  brow  love  inspired ; 
Till  the  sick  little  boy  fell  sweetly  asleep, 
So  tired  of  laughing, — in  slumbers  so  deep. 
The  shadows  of  ev'ning  soon  falling  around, 
Her  footsteps  turned  homeward,  where  no  joyous  sound 
E'er  welcomed  her  coming,  for  no  love  was  there 
For  poor  little  Amy,  shrinking  now  with  despair. 

As  she  neared  the  cottage,  accents  fierce  and  loud 
Uttered  by  the  voice,  which  oft  her  heart  had  bowed ; 


202  Twilight   Musings. 

'Twas  a  drunken  parent's — sinking  on  the  floor 
Amy  fell  in  terror, — near  the  open  door. 
Bitter  were  the  curses  when  he  saw  the  rent 
In  her  tattered  garments ;  and  by  fury  sent 
On  her  youthful  temple,  fell  a  mortal  blow, 
Like  a  blasted  flower — laying  Amy  low. 

Ah  !  too  late  the  anguish  which  in  fearful  cries 
Rent  the  air  around  her,  as  she  closed  her  eyes, 
Folded  her  pale  hands,  and  bowed  her  drooping  head, 
For  neglected  Amy,  by  that  blow  lay  dead. 
Round  the  lifeless  figure,  on  the  lowly  bier 
There  the  stricken  parents  poured  repentant  tears, 
Strewed  with  beauteous  flowers,  the  unconscious  clay, 
Mourned  too  late,  the  closing  of  her  youthful  day. 

While  hot  tears  of  sorrow  o'er  the  child  they  poured, 
Gently  in  the  stillness  ope'd  the  chamber  door  • 
Soft  the  little  streamlet  passed  in  silence  by, 
Sprinkling  with  its  waters,  Amy's  closed  eyes. 
Through  her  pale  lips  dropping,  flowing  thro'  her  veins: 
Setting  blood  in  motion,  life  returned  again; 
Then  she  heard  the  voices  of  the  gentle  waves, 
As  in  grateful  showers,  round  her  form  they  laved. 

Then,  they  gently  murmured,  "  This  we  do  to  thee, 
Gentle  little  maid,  thus  thou  didst  set  us  free ; 
Now  we  come  unsealing  death's  close-veiled  eyes, 
And  to  life  returning — bid  thee  joyful  rise." 
Now  within  the  chamber,  on  soft  flutt'ring  wings 
Gentle  breezes  enter — life  and  health  to  bring ; 
Tenderly  sweet  kisses  on  her  forehead  pressed, 
Breathed  fresh  sighs  so  loving,  through  her  heaving  breast. 


Twilight   Musings.  203 

Thus  the  zephyr  whispered — "  This  we  bring  to  thee, 
For  thy  breath  imparted  all  so  lovingly, 
Soothing  the  sad  moments  of  a  suff'ring  child, 
Making  thee  so  happy,  by  his  grateful  smile." 
Quickened  pulses  beating,  Amy  felt  the  bliss 
Of  reviving  powers ;  and  with  loving  kiss 
Pressed  the  fragrant  flowers  which  around  her  lay  -y 
Felt  the  blessed  rapture  of  returning  day. 

When  the  breeze  had  murmured  all  its  soothing  words, 
Near  the  door,  a  rustling  as  of  wings  was  heard, 
And  an  angel  gliding  stood  before  the  child, 
With  a  wreath  of  flowers — then  sweet  Amy  smiled. 
Then  the  beauteous  roses,  the  kind  angel  laid 
On  the  cheeks  so  pallid,  of  the  little  maid ; 
Quick  the  blush  returning  to  her  youthful  cheek, 
While  the  grateful  flowers,  thus  in  whispers  speak : 

u  When  with  thirst  expiring,  on  the  ground  we  lay, 

Withered  by  the  sun-beams  of  a  summer  day, 

In  return  for  water  brought  so  tenderly, 

Health's  bright-blooming  roses,  we  would  bring  to  thee." 

Ere  the  angel  left  her,  on  her  lips  he  pressed, 

On  her  eyes  and  forehead,  a  kiss  and  sweet  caress ; 

Then  life's  full  strength  returning,  raised  her  drooping  head, 

Ere  the  angel  vanished,  thus  he  kindly  said : 

"  Blessings  all  untold,  shall  ever  rest  on  thee; 
For  in  all  thy  weakness  and  deep  poverty, 
Like  the  glowing  sunshine,  thou  didst  stoop  to  bless 
Child,  and  rose,  and  streamlet,  in  thy  tenderness. 


204  Twilight   Musings. 

Now  the  gentle  Amy,  felt  a  thrill  of  joy, 

Hence  to  live  for  God,  should  be  her  sweet  employ ; 

With  a  thankful  spirit,  she  arose  again, 

Walking  in  her  meekness,  'niong  the  haunts  of  men. 


Ijjrito  JUfathA. 

"  Mother,  I  am  very  angry, 

For  my  teacher  said  to-day, 
That  my  help  in  speaking  pieces, 

Is  to  be  Maria  Gray." 
"  Well,  my  daughter,  what's  the  matter  ? 

Is  Maria  very  rude  ? 
Disobedient?  careless?  idle? 

Or  in  temper  unsubdued  V 

"  No  mamma, — that's  not  the  reason, 

But  she  is  so  very  poor ; 
And  her  clothes  are  mean  and  shabby, 

I  could  not  the  shame  endure, 
To  be  seen  before  the  public, 

With  the  daughter  of  a  man, 
Who  is  but  a  poor  mechanic, 

No  indeed  ! — I  never  can." 

"  Can  it  be  my  daughter  speaking  ? 

Can  she  modest  worth  deride  ? 
I've  a  tale  to  tell — rebuking 

All  such  words  of  siuful  pride 


Twilight    Musings.  205 

In  a  cottage,  very  humble, 

Peaceful  dwelt  some  years  ago, 
Round  a  happy,  quiet  fireside, 

Those  whose  lot  in  life  was  low. 

"  In  that  sweet,  domestic  circle 

Lived  a  poor  man  and  his  wife, 
With  a  babe  and  aged  mother, 

Struggling  for  the  means  of  life. 
Once,  upon  a  winter  evening, 

Duty  called  the  mother  out ; 
Ere  she  left  her  sleeping  baby, 

At  the  door  she  turned  about, 

u  Speaking  to  her  aged  mother 

Who  was  seated  near  the  fire, 
With  her  baby  in  the  cradle 

Of  its  playful  gambols  tired ; 
'  Mother,  pray  be  very  careful 

Lest  the  spark  should  catch  your  dress ;' 
Ere  she  went,  she  blessed  the  baby, 

With  a  mother's  fond  caress. 

"  Scarcely  had  she  crossed  the  threshold, 

Ere  the  grandma  fell  asleep ; 
Soon  a  spark  the  flames  enkindling, 

Roused  her  from  her  slumbers  deep ; 
Helpless,  aged — she  had  perished, 

But  a  stranger  heard  the  cry, 
Saw  the  flames,  and  Heaven-directed, 

Quickly  brought  deliverance  nigh. 

"  Snatched  the  baby  from  the  cradle ; 
Boldly  quenched  the  rising  flames ; 
18 


206  Twilight   Musings. 

Saving  thus  the  lives  so  precious 
From  a  death  too  sad  to  name : 

Then  he  vanished ;  long  they  sought  him, 
Till  at  last  his  home  they  found ; 

'Twas  a  splendid,  wealthy  mansion, 
By  cool  shade  encircled  round. 

"  There  they  traced  the  noble  stranger, 

With  his  pious,  gentle  wife ; 
Both  in  deeds  of  active  kindness, 

Filling  up  a  useful  life. 
Oft  the  wife  was  seen  caressing, 

On  her  sympathizing  breast, 
That  sweet  babe  with  smiles  unconscious, 

As  it  softly  sank  to  rest. 

"  Years  had  passed,  and  startling  changes 

Had  reversed  their  earthly  lot ; 
Riches  fled  away  forever 

From  the  rich  man  to  the  cot : 
While  the  poor  man  rose  and  prospered, 

Rich  in  houses  and  in  land, 
Daily  food  the  rich  man  purchased, 

By  the  labor  of  his  hands. 

"  But  he  had  one  precious  treasure 

Left  to  cheer  him  on  his  way, 
'Twas  a  faithful,  loving  daughter; 

Hear  her  name, — '  Maria  Gray  !' 
And  the  baby  saved  from  burning 

By  the  noble,  generous  man, 
Is  my  proud  and  scornful  daughter  ! 

Ah,  how  self-condemned  she  stands  !" 


Twilight   Musings.  207 

Thus  the  mother's  useful  lesson 

Bowed  in  shame  her  daughter's  head ; 
Filled  her  heart  with  tender  sorrow, 

For  the  sinful  words  she'd  said. 
And  if  tempted  by  the  passion 

Which  had  led  her  feet  astray, 
She  would  oft  recal  the  story 

Of  this  sweet  Maria  Gray. 

Then  she  loved  the  gentle  maiden, 

For  her  modest,  quiet  worth, 
And  tho'  poor  and  very  needy, 

As  her  friend  always  stood  forth. 
Never  once  the  truth  forgetting, 

That  her  father's  hand  had  saved 
Her  young  life,  himself  forgetting 

From  an  infant's  early  grave. 


$0gs,  Dtfoarc  of  j&  erptitfs. 

A  snake  is  in  the  wine-cup, 

Though  sparkling,  bright,  and  red, 
'Twill  sting  your  soul  with  anguish ; 

'Twill  fill  your  heart  with  dread. 
'Twill  gnaw  your  very  vitals ; 

'Twill  scorch  the  burning  brain ; 
And  visions  dark  and  dismal, 

Will  follow  in  its  train. 


208  Twilight  Musings. 

When  the  first  blush  is  rising, 

As  scoffing  words  are  spoke, 
Deriding  you,  for  bending 

To  a  mother's  gentle  yoke. 
Beware  !  a  snake  is  hissing 

Poisoned  whispers  in  your  ear; 
Beware  !  nor  think  it  manly, 

To  scorn  a  friend  so  dear. 

When  evil  guides  are  pointing 

To  a  path,  all  strewn  with  flow'rs ; 
To  scenes  of  guilty  pleasure, 

'Mid  earth's  enchanted  bow'rs. 
Remember — Oh  !  remember, 

Though  all  seems  smiling  fair, 
Just  ready  to  delude  you, 

A  snake  is  hidden  there. 

When  books  of  specious  evil 

Are  scattered  in  your  path ; 
Beware !  for  darkly  hidden, 

There  lie,  the  shades  of  death. 
And  in  those  dark  dominions, 

Beyond  the  reach  of  prayer, 
'Mid  relics  of  the  ruined, 

Are  serpents  hidden  there. 

Beware  !  of  open  scoffing, 
Beware  !  of  secret  sneers, 

Beware  !  of  all  these  serpents, 
When  first  they  would  appear 


Twilight   Musings.  209 

To  draw  your  feet  from  wisdom's  way, 

Or  from  your  childhood's  home, 
For  'neath  the  roof  of  piety, 

These  reptiles  will  not  come. 


%  Jfatjer's  f  mm. 

"  Hear  the  tempest !  hear  the  tempest 

See  our  vessel  fiercely  tost ! 
Mark  the  surges  bursting  o'er  her, 

Oh  !  I  fear  that  we  are  lost !" 
Murmured  thus,  a  child  in  anguish, 

As  he  leaned  in  wild  alarm, 
On  his  father's  manly  bosom, 

Calm  amidst  the  raging  storm. 

"  Father,  are  we  not  in  danger  ? 

Does  your  spirit  feel  no  fear  ? 
In  your  eye,  I  see  no  quailing, 

And  your  brow  is  smooth  and  clear." 
Then  from  out  a  rusty  scabbard,' 

Quick  he  drew  a  glitt'ring  sword, 
Aimed  it  at  his  darling's  bosom, 

Yet  he  uttered  not  a  word. 

Calm  the  boy,  with  eye  so  loving, 
Gazed  upon  his  father's  face ; 

Feared  no  sword,  while  closely  folded 
In  that  parent's  fond  embrace. 
18* 


210  Twilight    Musings. 

"  Why,  my  son,  no  fearful  trembling  ? 

Or  of  terror,  not  a  word  V9 
"  No,  my  father,  warm  affection 

Guides  the  hand,  that  holds  the  sword." 

"  Thus,  my  boy,  learn  here  a  lesson, 

Wind,  and  fire,  and  fiercest  storm, 
Guided  by  God's  love  and  wisdom, 

Cannot  do  believers  harm. 
Though  the  billows  should  engulf  us, 

Heav'nly  legions  hover  near 
To  conduct  our  spirits  homeward, 

Wherefore,  then,  should  Christians  fear  ?" 


"remember  the  poor." 

A  dear  little  little  prattler, 

Was  seated  one  day 
On  her  grandpapa's  knee, 

In  her  own  pleasant  way, 
She  looked  up  so  smiling 

And  said,  "  Grandpa  dear, 
Do  you  know  what  the  wind  says, 

This  time  of  the  year  V9 


Twilight  Musings.  211 

"  No,  dear  little  pussy, 

(As  stroking  her  hair,) 
Now  tell  me,  my  darling, 

I  am  ready  to  hear." 
u  In  piercing  December, 

It  knocks  at  the  door, 
And  it  says  very  plainly, 

i  Remember  the  poor/ 

"  It  comes  down  the  chimney 

And  in  the  loud  roar, 
It  speaks  in  strong  accents, 

1  Remember  the  poor/ 
In  the  cold  winter  night, 

Through  the  cracks  of  the  door, 
It  is  whistling  as  shrilly, 

1  Remember  the  poor/ 

"  On  the  bleak  winter  day, 

When  you  walk  in  the  street, 
And  you  button  your  coat, 

To  keep  off  the  sleet ; 
When  the  snows  of  December 

Are  driving  before, 
Then  softly  it  whispers, 

1  Remember  the  poor/  " 

"  What  does  the  child  mean  ? 

Is  she  not  warm  enough  ? 
Does  she  want  a  fur  tippet  ? 

Or  a  dear  little  muff?" 
u  No,  no,  my  dear  grandpa, 

I  am  thinking  of  those 


212  Twilight    Musings. 

Who  have  no  winter  stockings, 
No  warm  woolen  clothes/' 

The  voice  of  December 

Speaking  through  the  keen  wind, 
Was  heard  ever  after 

By  the  old  man  so  kind. 
And  many  a  sufFrer 

Might  bless  evermore, 
The  sweet  little  sermon, 

1  Remember  the  poor/ 


little  lb* 

Opt  I  see  a  youthful  figure, 

In  my  pensive  waking  dreams  ; 
Passing  by  in  smiling  silence, 

Like  a  sprite,  the  image  seems. 
Light-blue  eyes,  and  speaking  features, 

Dimples  round  the  rosy  mouth, 
Flaxen  hair,  and  skin  transparent, 

Face,  that  beamed  with  love  and  truth. 

Birdlike  motions,  light  and  airy, 
Voice  of  merriment  and  glee ; 

This  was  once  our  little  Mary  : 

When  shall  we  such  sweetness  see  ? 

Tho'  so  sportive  in  her  nature, 
E'en  a  silken  rein  could  check, 


Twilight    Musings.  213 

By  parental  care  and  fondness, 
Laid  upon  her  gentle  neck. 

As  the  summer  lake  transparent, 

With  the  light  of  perfect  truth, 
Thus  she  walked,  so  pure  and  guileless, 

In  the  innocence  of  youth. 
Bright  and  sparkling  was  her  spirit, 

Quick  her  intellect  to  learn, 
Blest  the  task  to  those  who  taught  her; 

Sweet  the  love  which  she  returned. 

Fearing  God,  and  hating  evil, 

In  her  simple  way  she  trod, 
Walking  onward,  trusting,  loving, 

To  the  Savior's  blest  abode 
I  can  see  her  tripping  lightly 

On  the  holy  Sabbath  morn ; 
Smiling  on  her  little  brother, 

Gently  guiding  him  along. 

Once,  when  wintry  winds  were  blowing, 

Going  home  from  school  one  day, 
She  espied  a  childish  beggar, 

Sadly  walking  on  her  way. 
Crossing  quick,  with  tones  so  loving, 

Speaking  kind  and  gentle  words ; 
Not  too  proud  to  walk  beside  her, 

Giving  all  her  little  hoard. 

When  rude  girls  would  hurt  and  tease  her, 
Quick  she'd  wipe  her  falling  tears, 


214  Twilight    Musings. 

And  to  hide  the  guilty  culprits, 
With  soft  smiles,  she  would  appear. 

Begging  they  might  be  forgiven, 
For  they  had  not  hurt  her  much ; 

If  the  meek  are  heirs  of  Heaven, 
Surely  she  was  one  of  such. 

Mem'ry  brings  that  past  vacation, 

When  we  bade  the  kind  adieu. 
Bright  with  youthful  hope,  we  parted, 

Soon  our  labors  to  renew. 
Thus  our  lovely  little  Mary 

Parting  from  a  friend  she  loved, 
Uttered  words  so  blithe  and  hopeful, 

As  they  joyful  homeward  moved. 

"  Meet  me  Sarah,  on  the  morning, 

When  our  school  begins  again, 
Then  we'll  run  along  together : 

Now,  we'll  kiss  good-bye,  till  then." 
Sarah  came,  but  little  Mary 

Never  met  her  on  the  way ; 
Cold  within  the  church-yard  sleeping, 

Calm  the  little  slumberer  lay. 

Now  we  feel  that  she  has  vanished, 

Like  a  sunbeam  from  our  path, 
But  we  trace  her  ransomed  spirit, 

Free  from  sorrow,  free  from  wrath. 
One  within  those  blessed  mansions, 

Where  the  Lamb  her  footsteps  guides ; 
Housed  in  Heaven,  and  forever 

Safe  beyond  death's  swelling  tide. 


Twilight    Musings.  215 


Illustrations  of  %  f  orb's  |ragtr. 

THE  LITTLE  VOYAGERS. 
"our  father,  who  art  in  heaven." 


One  pleasant  summer  afternoon, 

Two  little  children  strayed 
Along  the  beach,  in  search  of  shells, 

And  merrily  they  played. 
At  last,  they  spied  a  little  boat, 

All  fastened  to  the  pier; 
But  quick  their  little  hands  unwound 

The  rope,  as  free  from  fear, 

They  stepped  into  the  tempting  boat, 

And  seized  the  dripping  oars ; 
Soon  was  their  feeble  bark  afloat, 

And  rowing  from  the  shore. 
They  shouted  loud  with  childish  joy  : 

But  soon  the  sister's  hands 
Grew  weary,  and  she  dropped  her  oar, 

Far  from  the  ocean's  strand. 

Now  night  drew  on ;  they  knew  not  how 

Their  little  bark  to  guide ; 
Vain  was  their  childish  stock  of  strength, 

To  stem  the  ocean's  tide. 
The  brother's  eye  now  quailed  with  fear ; 

With  agonizing  brain 
He  thought  of  that  dear  mother's  face 

He  ne'er  might  see  again 


216  Twilight    Musings. 

Farther  and  farther  floated  out 

Their  boat,  so  small  and  frail, 
They  scarce  could  see  the  distant  land  ; 

Nor  e'en  a  distant  sail. 
Alone,  alone,  they  felt  it  now, 

While  darkness  round  them  closed ) 
u  Come,  brother,  let  us  look  to  God ; 

He  comforts  all  our  woes." 

Then  down  they  knelt  within  the  boat, 

Clasped  in  each  other's  arms; 
And  as  they  breathed  their  evening  prayer, 

Felt  free  from  all  alarms  : 
u  Our  Father,  who  in  Heaven  art, 

Oh,  hear  our  feeble  cry ; 
Defend  us  now  throughout  this  night, 

Beneath  this  evening  sky." 

Then  laid  they  down  and  sweetly  slept, 

Secure  from  every  fear ; 
While  angel  bands  kept  watch  o'er  them, 

Till  morning  light  appeared. 
A  home-bound  vessel  coming  in 

Descried  their  little  boat ; 
What  their  surprise,  so  far  from  land, 

To  see  it  there  afloat ! 

And  there,  in  infant  innocence, 

The  little  sleepers  lay, 
Secure  beneath  the  care  of  Heaven, 

Until  the  beams  of  day 
Unclosed  their  lids,  to  meet  the  gaze 

Of  friendly  strangers'  eye, 


Twilight  Musings.  21' 

Who  wondering  listened  to  the  tale 
Of  trusting  infancy. 

"  We  found  'twas  night,  and  so  we  said, 

1  Our  Father,  who  art  in  Heaven  ;' 
And  then  we  knew  that  He  would  hear 

The  prayer  which  He  has  given. 
Now  take  us  to  our  dearest  home ; 

For  mother's  heart  will  mourn 
Until  she  clasps  us  in  her  arms, 

And  finds  us  safe  returned." 


FEMALE  IMPIETY. 

"  HALLOWED   BE   THY  NAME." 

One  day,  as  mingling  with  the  crowd, 

A  youthful  form  I  met, 
Radiant  with  glowing  beauty's  charms 

Not  soon  can  I  forget 
The  sparkling  eye,  the  witching  smile, 

The  lips  of  coral  hue. 
Alas  !  that  words  irreverent 

Should  taint  their  balmy  dew. 

For  as  I  passed,  her  Maker's  name 

Was  spoke  in  scoffing  tones ; 
And  Heaven's  high  and  holy  place 

In  oaths  was  called  upon ; 
And  quickly  vanished  all  her  charms  \ 

The  crown  of  beauty  fell : 
Woman  !  without  the  fear  of  God, 

How  sunk  !  no  tongue  can  tell ! 
19 


218  Twilight    Musings. 

E'en  in  the  audience-chamber  grand, 

Where  God  to  man  descends, 
In  frothy  speech,  and  giddy  smiles, 

The  sacred  hours  she  spends. 
Oh  !  woman,  could'st  thou  know  how  blest 

In  Christian  homes  art  thou ; 
Go,  where  the  laws  of  heathen  lands 

Have  bowed  her  neck  so  low. 

Swear  not  by  Heaven,  for  His  His  throne; 

And  swear  not  by  the  earth, 
For  'tis  the  footstool  of  our  King, 

His  place  of  mortal  birth. 
Take  thou  the  shoes  from  off  thy  feet, 

When  in  the  house  of  God : 
Remember  'tis  His  chosen  seat ; 

The  place  of  His  abode. 

Remember  all  thy  countless  sins ; 

Remember  Jesus'  blood : 
Remember,  when  thou  comest  there, 

This  is  the  day  of  God. 
Think  of  His  spotless  holiness, 

Think  of  thy  spirit's  stain; 
Till  from  the  heart,  thou'st  learned  to  pray, 

"  All  hallowed  be  thy  name." 


LINDA  GRAY. 

"thy  kingdom  come." 

"  Thy  kingdom  come  I"  prayed  Linda  Gray 
That  prayer  was  never  heard  : 


Twilight   Musings.  219 

For,  hurried  o'er  by  thoughtless  lips, 

They  were  but  muttered  words. 
So  full  of  youthful  merriment, 

She  scarce  had  time  for  thought, 
Until  the  Spirit's  melting  power, 

Her  heart  to  Jesus  brought. 

"  Thy  kingdom  come  !"  prayed  Linda  Gray, 

And  in  her  gentle  eyes, 
A  softer  light  of  heavenly  love, 

Reflected  from  the  skies, 
Marked  her  for  Heaven  in  her  bloom ; 

And  tho'  as  full  of  joy; 
How  she  could  glorify  her  Lord, 

Was  hence  her  sole  employ. 

"  Thy  kingdom  come  !"  prayed  Linda  Gray  : 

How  can  I  show  my  love  ? 
Sudden,  a  glowing  heav'n-born  thought 

Descended  from  above. 
"  To  heathen  lands,  Oh  !  let  me  go  ! 

Dear  mother,  may  it  be  ? 
There  will  be  time  enough  for  joy, 

Beyond  life's  troubled  sea." 

"  Thy  kingdom  come  !"  prayed  Linda  Gray, 

And  soon  across  the  sea, 
A  white-winged  vessel  bore  her  on, 

To  where  her  heart  would  be. 
To  Burmah's  children  she  was  sent, 

And  with  a  martyr's  zeal, 
By  day,  by  night,  she  sought  for  them, 

Their  everlasting  weal. 


220  Twilight  Musings. 

Years  passed  away, — and  in  the  land 

Which  once  had  been  her  home, 
One  sultry  Sabbath  afternoon, 

Within  a  sacred  dome 
A  stranger  stood,  of  lofty  mien, 

And  brightly-beaming  eye ; 
The  swarthy  skin,  and  foreign  air, 

Spoke  of  an  eastern  sky. 

He  raised  his  voice,  and  while  he  spoke, 

With  eye  so  full  of  love, 
With  feelings  deep,  and  gushing  tears, 

The  multitude  were  moved. 
"  My  friends,  in  Burmah's  distant  land, 

My  early  days  were  spent ; 
I  was  an  ignorant  heathen  child, 

Until  by  Heaven  was  sent 

"  A  gentle  woman  to  my  home, 

And  in  whose  lovely  face, 
There  shown  the  light  of  holiness, 

Shed  from  a  Savior's  grace. 
She  took  me  by  this  tawny  hand, 

She  led  me  to  the  cross ; 
I  gave  up  idols,  cruel  rites, 

And  glory  in  their  loss. 

"  And  here  I  stand,  a  Christian  man, 

On  this  most  holy  day ; 
The  peace  of  God  is  in  my  heart, 

And  I  have  learned  to  pray 
1  Thy  kingdom  come  !'  henceforth  my  joy 

Shall  be,  to  tell  abroad 


Twilight    Musings.  221 

The  riches  of  redeeming  grace, 
The  matchless  love  of  God. 

"My  friends,  there  is  a  little  grave 

In  Burmah's  heathen  land, 
And  o'er  it  sing  our  native  birds, 

And  round  it,  children  stand ; 
Where  flowers  grow  in  richest  bloom, 

In  a  region  far  away ; 
Honored  and  blest  by  those  she  loved, 

There  slumbers,  Linda  Gray." 


"  Thy  kingdom  come  !"  prayed  Linda  Gray, 

"  Thy  kingdom  come  V'  she  lived; 
And  though  so  short  the  race  she  ran, 

How  blessed  !  to  believe 
That  in  the  upper  realms  of  bliss, 

She  waits  the  glorious  day, 
When  to  her  loved  embrace  are  given, 

Those  she  has  taught  to  pray. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  SUSAN  ALLIBONE. 

"  MADE    PERFECT    THROUGH  SUFFERING.." 
"  THY  WILL  BE   DONE   ON   EARTH,   AS   IT  IS   DONE   IN   HEAVEN." 

In  a  sweet,  secluded  village, 

Stood  a  home  of  peace  and  love, 
Where  the  inmates  gathered  daily, 
Heavenly  manna  from  above. 
19* 


222  Twilight  Musings. 

'Mid  the  shade  of  trees  so  lofty, 
Peaceful  quiet  breathed  around : 

Every  spot  around  that  dwelling, 
Seems  like  consecrated  ground. 

For  within  a  little  cottage, 

Thickly  shaded  from  the  sun, 
There's  a  hallowed,  peaceful  chamber, 

Sacred  to  one  name  alone. 
There  a  saint  prepared  for  glory  : 

On  a  couch  of  sufFring  laid, 
There  she  smiled  thro'  years  of  anguish  ; 

There  she  suffered,  there  she  prayed. 

I  can  see  her  form  so  wasted, 

Clad  in  robe  of  purest  white ; 
And  her  brow  so  fair  and  peaceful, 

With  a  smile  so  heavenly  bright : 
I  can  see  the  holy  aspect, 

Speaking  deep  of  victory  won, 
While  each  glance  so  meekly  uttered, 

"  Father,  may  Thy  will  be  done." 

There  I  see  a  little  table, 

With  her  books,  and  desk,  and  flowers ! 
How  she  loved  their  blest  communion 

In  her  silent,  lonely  hours  ! 
How  she  loved  each  bud  and  blossom  ! 

How  she  basked  in  Heaven's  own  sun  ! 
Still  she  smiled  without  repining, 

"  Father,  may  Thy  will  be  done." 

I  can  see  her  hand  transparent, 
Laid  upon  a  feeble  child, 


Twilight    Musings. 

While  with  tones  so  deeply  moving, 
She  has  prayed  in  accents  mild. 

I  can  hear  her  words  of  wisdom, 
Which  so  many  souls  have  won, 

Pressing  on  them  lessons  holy; 
Thus,  her  Father's  will  was  done. 

Days  of  trial !  nights  of  anguish  ! 

Still  while  she  could  hold  a  pen, 
Pouring  out  her  heart's  compassion, 

She  would  plead  with  sinful  men. 
While  the  thoughtless  child  of  pleasure, 

Heedless  trod  life's  giddy  round, 
She  was  lab' ring,  toiling,  praying; 

Thus,  her  Father's  will  was  done. 

• 

By  the  light  of  holy  living 

She  attracted  souls  to  Heaven ; 
Who,  in  answer  to  her  pleadings, 

To  her  faith,  as  stars,  were  given. 
Gospel  trumpets  clear  are  sounding, 

Whose  first  peal  was  wakened  there 
By  a  gentle  woman's  teachings, 

Sanctified  by  earnest  prayer. 

In  that  chamber,  loving  spirits 

Kindly  soothed  her  every  sigh  : 
Watching  o'er  her  was  sweet  service 

To  the  friends  who  hovered  nigh. 
Very  near  the  gate  of  Heaven, 

Patient  laid  the  waiting  one ; 
Long  her  guardian  angel  tarried, 

Still  she  smiled,  "Thy  will  be  done." 


224  Twilight    Musings. 

Till  at  last,  a  pitying  angel 

On  her  lips  a  kiss  impressed, 
Winning  thus  the  parting  spirit 

To  her  everlasting  rest. 
Now,  as  strangers  pass  the  chamber 

Where  her  victory  was  won, 
Still  they  hear  those  dying  whispers, 

"  Father,  may  Thy  will  be  done." 


CHILDISH  FAITH. 

"  GIVE   US   THIS   DAY,  OUR  DAILY  BREAD." 

In  a  forest  dark  and  dreary, 

Stood  a  cottage  all  alone ; 
Hov'ring  near  a  smould'ring  fire, 

Frightened  by  the  tempest's  moan, 
Cowered  down  two  little  children, 

While  the  furious  tempest  raged  : 
Lightnings  flashed  and  thunders  rattled, 

As  the  fearful  warfare  waged. 

Near  the  door,  an  aged  miser 

Storm-staid  on  his  homeward  way, 
Stood,  afraid  to  ask  for  shelter, 

Fearing  that  he'd  have  to  pay. 
While  he  wrapped  his  rags  about  him, 

Trembling  'mid  the  awful  storm, 
Voices  spoke  within  that  cottage, 

Full  of  feeling,  young  and  warm. 


Twilight    Musings.  225 

"  I  am  very  hungry,  Nettie, 

I  have  hunted  all  in  vain 
For  a  cold  potato  paring, 

Or  of  corn,  one  single  grain. 
How  the  awful  storm  is  raging ! 

I  can  hear  the  cracking  boughs ; 
E'en  the  very  trees  are  rocking; 

One  has  fallen  near  the  house. 

"  See  !  what  care  the  Lord  has  taken, 

That  on  us  it  should  not  fall, 
And  since  He  has  been  so  gracious, 

He  may  hear  us  if  we  call. 
Let  us  pray,  that  He  will  send  us 

Bread  our  hungry  mouths  to  feed  f 
Then  repeating  '  Our  Father, 

Give  us  now  our  daily  bread/ 

"  Let  us  stop  then,  very  silent, 

Till  our  Father  sends  us  bread :" 
Then  they  knelt,  with  faith  so  trusting, 

While  their  childish  prayer  they  said. 
Near,  the  miser  lingered  list'ning, 

And  the  silence  eloquent, 
Touched  a  chord  of  human  feeling, 

And  the  marble  bosom  rent. 

In  a  neighb'ring  little  village, 

He,  a  single  loaf  had  bought 
To  supply  his  hungry  cravings ; 

Now — his  new-born  feelings  sought 
How  to  feed  the  little  creatures ; 

So  he  softly  moved  the  door, 


226  Twilight    Musings. 

Quickly  dropped  the  precious  morsel 
On  the  children's  cottage  floor. 

Oh  !  how  sweet  the  joyful  feelings  ! 

In  that  moment  to  him  given, 
When  he  heard  the  simple  accents, 

"  See  !  it  came  right  down  from  Heaven. 
I  have  always  heard  how  gracious  : 

How  forgiving,  and  how  good, 
Was  our  blessed  Heavenly  Father : 

Let  us  ever  love  our  God." 

Soon  was  hushed  the  fearful  raging 

Of  the  tempest  howling  wild ; 
And  the  miser,  home  returning, 

Ever  loved  a  little  child. 
For  their  whispered  lisping  accents, 

Quite  had  thawed  the  icy  heart, 
And  a  little  child  had  led  him 

Late,  to  choose  the  better  part. 

Ere  he  died,  he  gave  the  cottage 

To  the  poor  man  for  his  home, 
And  the  little  children  wondered 

Often  how  the  change  had  come. 
Little  did  they  think,  how  mighty 

Was  that  feeble,  trusting  prayer  : 
Bringing  to  them  bread  from  Heaven, 

And  a  home  for  future  years. 


Twilight    Musings.  227 


LITTLE  MABEL. 

"forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive  those  who  have  tres- 
passed AGAINST  US." 

Once  there  was  a  little  maiden : 

All  who  met  her  kindly  smiled ; 
For  about  her  dwelt  such  sweetness, 

Every  body  loved  the  child. 
In  her  eyes,  there  shone  a  gladness, 

Kindled  by  the  Holy  Dove, 
Hound  her  lips  lay  smiles  so  tender, 

Breathed  from  founts  of  heavenly  love. 

In  her  tones  of  voice,  so  flute-like, 

Naught  was  heard  but  loving  words ; 
In  her  motions  all  so  airy, 

Graceful  as  a  flitting  bird. 
If  you  asked  her,  "  Little  Mabel, 

Why  do  people  love  you  so  V 
She  would  say,  "  I  cannot  answer, 

Only  that  I  love  them  too." 

Once  she  had  a  little  neighbor, 

Who  beside  her,  sat  at  school, 
But  she  loved  not  little  Mabel, 

All  her  words  and  looks  were  cool. 
For  within  her  childish  bosom 

Lay  a  passion,  dark  and  drear ; 
Envy,  like  a  snake,  had  muttered 

Poisoned  whispers  in  her  ear. 


Twilight    Musings. 

When  the  gentle  Mabel  touched  her ; 

With  a  deep  satanic  spite, 
Bessie  then  would  pinch  her  rudely, 

All  her  kindness  would  requite 
Only  with  malicious  actions; 

When  she  met  her  in  the  street, 
She  would  throw  her  in  the  gutter, 

And  her  tauntings  oft  repeat. 

Still  the  lovely  little  Mabel 

Prayed  for  Bessie  morn  and  even ; 
Prayed  that  she  might  still  forgive  her, 

As  she  hoped  to  be  forgiven. 
Then,  she  tried  if  love  could  win  her, 

And  would  give  the  very  best 
Of  the  plums,  her  mother  gave  her, 

And  contented,  kept  the  rest. 

Once  as  walking  home  together, 

Some  rude  boys  poor  Bessie  threw 
In  a  ditch,  with  mud  and  brambles, 

Drenched  her  clothing  through  and  through  ; 
Little  Mabel  kindly  helped  her, 

Wiped  her  face,  and  kissed  her  cheek, 
Then  she  sweetly  led  her  homeward ; 

Bessie,  scarce  for  shame  could  speak. 

When  they  reached  her  mother's  threshold, 

Bessie's  face  all  bathed  in  tears, 
Mabel  saw  that  she  had  conquered ; 

Oh  !  how  sweet  those  tears  appear  ! 
Thus  we  see  the  real  meaning, 

Of  the  burning  coals  of  fire, 


20 


Twilight   Musings.  229 

Melting  down  the  hardest  nature, 
By  a  love  so  heaven-inspired. 


UNANSWERED  PRAYERS. 
"lead  us  not  into  temptation." 

"Into  temptation  lead  us  not:" 

Thus  mocking  prayed  a  man, 
In  tones  of  seeming  reverence, 

But  by  Omniscience  scanned. 
They  were  but  vain,  unmeaning  words, 

For  from  the  bended  knee, 
Where  sinful  mirth  and  revel  reigned, 

He  scrupled  not  to  be. 

"  Into  temptation  lead  us  not :" 

These  were  the  solemn  words, 
Breathed  lightly  from  a  maiden's  lips, 

Ere  with  the  careless  herd 
She  mingled  in  the  whirling  dance, 

And  in  the  scoffer's  seat 
She  heedless  sat,  with  giddy  mien, 

And  tripped  with  flying  feet. 

"  Into  temptation  lead  us  not," 

Both  morn  and  night  she  prayed ; 
And  yet  'mid  scenes  theatric  e'en, 

Her  thoughtless  footsteps  strayed. 
One  day,  behold  her  at  the  feast 

Of  Jesus'  dying  love ; 
The  next,  immersed  in  worldly  joys, 

Behold  her  eager  move. 


230  Twilight    Musings. 

"  Into  temptation  lead  us  not  \" 

Ah  !  can  these  prayers  ascend, 
From  hearts  divided  with  the  world  ? 

And  will  His  grace  descend 
Upon  the  souls,  who  madly  rush 

Into  the  very  snares 
They  pray  to  be  delivered  from  ? 

Will  Jesus  hear  such  prayers  ? 

"  Into  temptation  lead  us  not  V 

Then  let  us  not  be  found, 
Where  prayer  could  not  be  offered  up, 

Or  where  the  heavenly  sound 
Of  holy  praise  could  not  be  heard, 

Or  where  a  Savior's  face 
Could  not  be  welcomed  as  a  guest, 

To  bless  the  honored  place. 


THE  POWER  OF  AN  INFANT'S  PRAYER. 
"deliver  us  from  evil." 

The  shades  of  night  had  gathered 

Around  a  dwelling  deep, 
Where  in  a  silent  chamber, 

Too  deeply  moved  to  sleep, 
There  sat  a  man  in  anguish  : 

He  seemed  to  be  alone ; 
But  tempting  spirits  whispered 

Dark  thoughts,  in  muttered  tones. 

Dread  hour  of  fierce  temptation  ! 
Ah  !  how  the  demons  smiled. 


Twilight   Musings.  231 

When  by  their  evil  counsels, 

He  seemed  almost  beguiled. 
Just  on  the  point  of  yielding, 

When  accents  low  and  sweet, 
He  heard  in  whispered  pleadings, 

And  started  to  his  feet. 

In  the  next  room  adjoining, 

A  mother  taught  her  child  : 
"Deliver  us  from  evil," 

Was  spoke  in  accents  mild. 
He  heard  with  deep  emotion, 

Those  softly  whispered  words ; 
And  spirits  of  his  childhood, 

Within  his  bosom  stirred. 

Again  he  felt  the  pressure 

Of  a  mother's  gentle  hand  : 
The  grave  gave  up  its  inmate, 

And  near  him  seemed  to  stand 
The  spirit  of  that  mother  : 

He  heard  her  loving  tones, 
As  in  the  ev'ning  twilight 

She  prayed  with  him  alone. 

"  Deliver  us  from  evil  I" 

He  heard  with  fearful  start : 
"  Deliver  us  from  evil," 

Seemed  burned  upon  his  heart. 
It  was  the  hour  of  darkness  : 

He  saw  the  horrid  deed 
In  all  its  dreadful  blackness ; 

He  felt  where  it  would  lead. 


232  Twilight  Musings. 

Bowed  down  in  deep  repentance, 

He  knelt  before  the  Lord; 
And  tears  of  heartfelt  sorrow, 

From  the  crushed  spirit  poured. 
The  demons  fled  forever; 

Their  power  had  passed  away ; 
And  childhood's  feeble  pleadings, 

Had  taught  him  how  to  pray. 

Ah  !  little  thought  that  mother, 

As  she  taught  her  precious  one, 
That  those  words  so  feebly  uttered, 

Should  bring  that  lost  one  home. 
"  Deliver  us  from  evil/' 

Spoke  by  an  infant's  voice, 
Had  saved  a  tempted  sinner, 

Had  made  all  Heaven  rejoice. 


"for  thine  is  the  kingdom,  and  the  power,  and  the  glory, 
forever  and  ever." 

Thine  is  the  glorious  kingdom, 

Which  o'er  the  world  shall  reign, 
And  thine  the  mighty  power, 

To  bring  to  earth  again 
The  jubilee  of  glory, 

When  war  and  strife  shall  cease, 
And  o'er  the  whole  creation, 

There  dawns  eternal  peace. 

And  thine  be  all  the  glory, 
O,  blessed  Son  of  God  ! 


Twilight   Musings.  233 

For  by  thy  heart-wrung  anguish, 

And  by  thy  precious  blood, 
Thou  'st  conquered  sin's  dominions, 

Thou'st  spoiled  the  cruel  grave; 
And  thus  thou'rt  crowned  forever, 

The  mighty  One  to  save. 

Forever  and  forever, 

The  days  of  mourning  past, 
Long  as  thyself  enduring, 

Thy  kingdom,  Lord,  shall  last. 
When  to  His  own  dominions, 

The  Lord  returns  again, 
Angels,  and  saints,  and  martyrs, 

Shall  shout  the  loud  Amen. 

Ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand 

Of  voices  rich  and  loud, 
Like  the  sound  of  many  waters, 

Above  the  glorious  clouds, 
Shall  swell  the  raptured  anthem, 

To  the  Lamb,  for  sinners  slain, 
And  thoughout  the  courts  of  Heaven, 

Shall  roll  the  grand  Amen. 


Amen  !  so  let  it  be, 
Over  the  dark,  blue  sea, 

Beneath  Heaven's  dome. 


20' 


234  Twilight    Musings. 

Spirit  of  peace  !  expand 
Thy  wings  o'er  heathen  lands, 
"Where  souls  benighted  stand  : 
Thy  kingdom  come. 

Amen  !  so  let  it  be. 
May  love  and  harmony 

Fill  every  home : 
From  the  cold,  icy  poles, 
To  where  deep  ocean  rolls; 
In  every  human  soul, 

Thy  kingdom  come. 

Amen  !  so  let  it  be. 
Proclaim  true  liberty 

Where'er  men  roam  ; 
From  the  broad  northern  lakes 
To  the  sweet  cany  brakes, 
May  Satan's  kingdom  shake ; 

May  Jesus  come. 

Amen  !  so  let  it  be. 
May  man's  great  family 

Quickly  come  home : 
Where  southern  oceans  lave ; 
Where  the  acacia  waves, 
May  Jesus  come  to  save  : 

His  kingdom  come. 

Amen  !  so  let  it  be. 
Blest  reign  of  purity 

Speedily  come. 


Twilight   Musings.  235 

Sound  the  loud  jubilee 
Over  the  earth  and  sea ; 
Lord,  may  we  raptured  see 

Thy  kingdom  come. 


gig  gating  geffa. 

Yes,  thou  art  gone,  my  lovely  one; 

I  feel  it  now; 
Morning  and  eve  I  sit- alone, 

And  meekly  bow 
Beneath  the  crushing  weight  of  woe, 
Which  sinks  my  heart  in  sorrow  low, 
While  to  thy  grave  my  spirit  goes, 

My  darling  Retta. 

I  hear  thee  dancing  on  the  stair, 

My  dearest  child ; 
Thy  voice  is  ringing  every  where, 

And  thus  beguiled, 
I  often  watch  an  op'ning  door : 
With  quickened  step  I  cross  the  floor, 
Then  sigh  alas!  she'll  come  no  more  ! 
My  darling  Retta. 

I  see  a  form  of  childish  grace, 

With  flaxen  hair; 

The  light  blue  eyes,  and  smiling  face, 
So  sweet,  so  fair, 


236  Twilight    Musings. 

In  form  and  face  so  much  like  thee, 
Wounds  bleed  afresh  when  thus  I  see 
A  vision,  bringing  back  to  me, 

My  darling  Retta. 

I  see  thee  in  thy  bounding  glee, 

With  youth  so  warm, 

I  hear  thee  singing  merrily, 

With  witching  charm  j 

A  book  I  find  that  thou  hast  touched  ; 

A  toy  which  thou  hast  valued  much, 

Precious  mementos  !  these  are  such 
Of  darling  Retta. 

Thy  chair  is  on  the  nursery  floor ; 

The  very  same 
Which  in  thy  infant  pinafore, 

When  twilight  came, 
Pleased  would' st  thou  rock  thy  weary  limbs, 
And  sing  thy  mother's  cradle  hymns, 
Before  the  evening  lamps  were  trimmed, 

My  darling  Retta. 

Thy  bonnet  hangs  upon  the  stand; 

I  kiss  it  oft, 
And  the  small  glove  which  cased  thy  hand, 

So  fair,  so  soft. 
I  weep  around  thy  little  bed, 
Where  thou  did'st  rest  thy  dying  head, 
And  think  of  all  that  thou  hast  said, 

My  darling  Retta. 

Thy  birth-day  comes ;  no  mother's  kiss 
Then  welcomes  thee : 


Twilight   Musings.  237 

Oh  !  then  the  gifts  of  love  I  miss, 

So  painfully. 
Unconscious  I  am  wand' ring  there, 
To  stores  of  childish  toys,  and  where 
We  all  have  sought  our  loving  share, 

For  darling  Retta. 

The  spring-flowers  bloom,  but  not  for  thee, 

My  faded  one : 
They  strew  thy  grave  so  tenderly, 

Where  all  alone 
My  darling  sleeps,  in  Jesus7  care, 
Safe  from  the  world's  alluring  snare : 
With  trusting  faith,  we  leave  thee  there, 

Our  darling  Retta. 

Two  forms  I  see,  in  waking  dreams ; 

None  in  the  grave  : 
One  like  my  living  Retta  seems  : 

Beyond  the  wave 
The  other  smiles  in  the  bright  land, 
Where  by  the  tree  of  life  she  stands, 
With  palm  of  vict'ry  in  her  hand, 

My  darling  Retta. 

There,  hand  in  hand,  with  spirits  blest, 

She  walks  beside 
The  stream  of  life,  where  blissful  rests 

The  Crucified : 
He  guides  her  timid,  wand'ring  feet, 
Safely  along  the  golden  street : 
There  may  we  all  in  rapture  meet 

Our  darling  Retta. 


HYMNS  FOR  CHILDREN. 


TUNE,    "I'M    A    PILGRIM." 

See  the  gracious,  the  gentle  Shepherd ; 

As  the  friend  of  guilty  sinners  he  appears. 
See  the  gracious,  the  gentle  Shepherd ; 

As  the  friend  of  guilty  sinners  he  appears. 
Far  from  our  Father  He  saw  us  straying ; 
He  knew  our  danger,  and  quick  obeying  : 
See  the  gracious,  the  gentle  Shepherd ; 

As  the  friend  of  guilty  sinners  he  appears. 

He  passed  the  rich  by,  and  stoop' d  to  succor 
The  poor,  the  sick,  the  sun" ring  sons  of  earth. 

He  pass'd  the  rich  by,  and  stoop' d  to  succor 
The  poor,  the  sick,  the  sufifring  sons  of  earth ; 

Rebuked  the  proud  ones,  and  kind  caressing 

The  little  children  who  came  for  blessing. 

He  passed  the  rich  by,  and  stooped  to  succor 
The  poor,  the  sick,  the  suffering  sons  of  earth. 


240  Twilight   Musings. 

Filled  with  pity,  He  came  to  save  us, 

When  no  other  arm  could  bring  salvation  down. 

Filled  with  pity,  He  came  to  save  us, 

When  no  other  arm  could  bring  salvation  down. 

Oh  !  come  to  Jesus,  on  Him  relying ; 

Behold  Him  wounded,  behold  Him  dying  ! 

Filled  with  pity,  He  came  to  save  us, 

When  no  other  arm  could  bring  salvation  down. 

Behold  the  Savior,  in  clouds  ascending, 

While  the  gazing  group  all  see  Him  disappear. 
Behold  the  Savior,  in  clouds  ascending, 

While  the  gazing  group  all  see  Him  disappear. 
In  Heav'n  He's  waiting  the  blessed  morning, 
When  back  to  earth  then  again  returning, 
When  on  the  mountain  again  descending, 
He  comes  to  gather  all  His  children  home. 

There  needs  no  candle  to  light  that  temple, 

Where  the  Lamb  shall  be  its  everlasting  light. 
There  needs  no  candle  to  light  that  temple, 

Where  the  Lamb  shall  be  its  everlasting  light- 
All  pain  is  banished,  all  sin  and  sighing ; 
There  are_no  tears  there,  nor  any  dying. 
Oh,  blest  Kedeemer !  who  died  to  save  us, 
Bring  all  we  love  to  that  eternal  rest. 


Twilight    Musings.  241 


Com*,  ftf  «s  go  to  |tfB8, 

Come  let  us  go  to  Jesus  ! 

Why  should  we  wish  to  stay 
Away  from  our  Redeemer  ? 

Come,  let  us  haste  away  : 
Come,  let  us  go  to  Jesus  ! 

He's  waiting  for  us  now, 
And  kindly  he  will  meet  us, 

While  at  His  feet  we  bow. 

He's  waiting  to  be  gracious  j 

He'll  pardon  all  our  sins, 
If  we  will  stop  from  sinning, 

And  to  serve  God  begin  : 
He  wept  for  little  children, 

When  on  the  ground  He  lay, 
And  sweat  great  drops  of  anguish, 

While  earnestly  He  prayed. 

For  us  He  shed  His  life-blood, 

To  show  He  could  forgive 
The  sins  of  countless  millions, 

If  they  would  but  believe. 
Then  let  us  go  to  Jesus ; 

Let  us  no  more  delay, 
He's  waiting  to  receive  us  : 

Come,  let  us  haste  away. 
21 


242  Twilight  Musings. 


Come,  fd  us  go  to  jftatot. 

Come,  let  us  go  to  Heaven : 

This  world  is  not  our  rest ; 
There  holy  joys  are  given ; 

There  peace  fills  every  breast ; 
There  are  no  tears  or  sighing ; 

Sin  cannot  enter  there, 
Nor  pain,  nor  any  dying, 

Can  taint  the  peaceful  air. 

Come,  let  us  go  to  Heaven : 

The  righteous  dead  are  there, 
Their  sins  are  all  forgiven ; 

They've  done  with  earthly  care. 
There  dwell  the  lambs  of  Jesus ; 

They  walk  the  shining  street ; 
They  sing  the  song  of  rapture, 

While  they  His  love  repeat. 

Beside  the  peaceful  river, 

The  Lamb  their  footsteps  guides ; 
They  dwell  with  Him  forever, 

Near  to  His  bleeding  side. 
Forever  and  forever 

Their  sorrows  all  are  past ; 
Forever  and  forever 

Their  blessed  joys  shall  last. 


Twilight   Musings.  243 


^abtatjj 


inmn. 


This  is  the  holy  Sabbath-day ; 
Let  's  quit  our  work,  and  stop  our  play, 
For  'tis  the  day  that  God  has  given, 
To  lead  our  spirits  up  to  Heaven. 

Let  us  remember  all  our  sins  : 

Our  going  out,  and  coming  in 

Was  seen  by  God,  through  all  the  week, 

Oh  !  let  us  now  His  pardon  seek. 

Let  us  remember,  Jesus  died ; 
On  the  sharp  cross  was  crucified, 
To  open  wide  the  gates  of  Heaven, 
For  sinners,  who  would  be  forgiven. 

The  Sabbath  past,  Oh  !  may  we  be 
Through  the  next  week,  still  more  like  thee ; 
More  humble,  pure,  and  full  of  love ; 
More  meet  to  dwell  with  Christ  above. 


%n  SaM4  Ittont. 

'Tis  Sabbath  morn  !  'tis  Sabbath  morn, 
The  church-bells  seem  to  say  : 


244  Twilight   Musings. 

Come,  come  away,  'tis  Sabbath  morn ; 

Oh !  why  should  we  delay. 
This  is  the  day  our  Lord  has  blessed ; 
It  points  to  our  eternal  rest  : 
Come,  come  away,  'tis  Sabbath  morn, 

The  church-bells  seem  to  say. 

To  Jesus  come  !  to  Jesus  come  ! 

The  church-bells  seem  to  say; 
He  calls  us  to  our  heavenly  home, 

How  can  we  stay  away  ? 
This  is  the  day  when  Christ  arose, 
Triumphant  o'er  the  worst  of  foes  : 
Come,  come  away,  'tis  Sabbath  morn, 

The  church-bells  seem  to  say. 

Oh  !  come  to  Heav'n,  Oh  !  come  to  Heav'n, 

The  church-bells  seem  to  say  : 
Come,  come  away,  'tis  Sabbath  morn, 

'Tis  Jesus'  rising  day. 
It  points  to  that  eternal  morn, 
When  saints  shall  from  the  grave  return : 
Come,  come  away,  'tis  Sabbath  morn ; 
Let's  worship  God  to-day. 


The  day  draweth  near, 
When  Christ  shall  appear, 
When  we  must  arise ; 


Twilight    Musings.  245 

To  meet  on  His  throne, 
In  glory  come  down, 

.  The  Lord  of  the  skies. 

How  dreadful  that  day  ! 
When  earth  flies  away, 

The  moon  red  as  blood  ! 
'Mid  the  sun's  dismal  pall, 
Stars  from  Heaven  shall  fall, 

Through  a  fiery  flood. 

How  shall  I  appear 

When  Christ  draweth  near, 

In  judgment  to  come  ? 
Shall  I  then  rejoice, 
When  Jesus'  own  voice, 

Pronounces  my  doom  f 

Oh  !  will  He  say  come  ! 
In  Heaven  there's  room ; 

For  you  are  my  own  : 
You  served  me  below  : 
Come,  dwell  with  me  now, 

Forever,  at  home. 


21 


wm  you  60? 

Oh  !  Heaven  must  be  a  happy  place, 
Will  you  go  ?  will  you  go  ? 


246  Twilight   Musings. 

We  there  shall  see  the  Savior's  face ; 

Will  you  go  ?  will  you  go  ? 
There  sin  and  sorrow  fly  away,   . 
For  Jesus  makes  eternal  day: 
No  sin  can  in  His  presence  stay ; 

Will  you  go  ?  will  you  go  ? 

There,  every  breast  with  love  is  filled 
Will  you  go  ?  will  you  go  ? 

No  warm  affection  there  is  chilled, 
Will  you  go  ?  will  you  go  ? 

There  parted  friends  again  shall  meet, 

Together  walk  the  golden  street; 

Together  joyful  hymns  repeat : 

Will  you  go  ?  will  you  go  ? 

No  night  is  there,  no  setting  sun ; 

Will  you  go  ?  will  you  go  ? 
But  blissful,  bright,  eternal  noon ; 

Will  you  go  ?  will  you  go  ? 
No  sickness  bows  the  drooping  head ; 
No  weakness  checks  the  youthful  tread ; 
No  grave  to  hide  the  cherished  dead; 

Will  you  go  ?  will  you  go  ? 

There  flowers  bloom  in  endless  grace ; 

Will  you  gf>  ?  will  you  go  ? 
There  fruits  celestial  please  the  taste ; 

Will  you  go  ?  will  you  go  ? 
There  heavenly  music  sweetly  swells ; 
There  Jesus  with  His  people  dwells ; 
There's  pleasure  more  than  tongue  can  tell ; 

Will  you  go  ?  will  you  go  ? 


Twilight   Musings.  247 


Ijmnn. 


The  Savior  is  near, 
O  !  what  shall  we  fear, 

Since  he  is  so  good  ? 
Our  prayers  he  will  hear, 
"Whene'er  we  draw  near, 

Through  his  precious  blood. 

Though  little  we  are, 
We  've  wander' d  afar 

From  his  holy  way. 
Our  spirits  within, 
Are  all  stain' d  with  sin, 

By  night  and  by  day. 

If  we  would  be  good, 
Our  Savior's  own  blood 

Must  make  our  hearts  pure. 
To  Christ  let  us  come ; 
He  guides  us  safe  home, 

Where  sin  he  will  cure. 

O,  Savior  so  meek, 
Look  on  us,  so  weak, 

And  pity  us  now. 
O  !  teach  us  to  love, 
Our  Father  above, 

While  near  thee  we  bow. 


248  Twilight  Musings. 


Infant  Hpn. 

Jesus,  Savior, 
May  thy  favor, 

Rest  on  me  : 
Though  in  Heaven, 

Pray  for  me. 

Though  in  glory, 
Holy  angels, 

"Worship  thee; 
Wilt  thou  stoop 

To  pray  for  me. 

Gentle  Shepherd, 
In  thy  bosom, 

Carry  me ; 
And  when  tempted 

Pray  for  me. 

From  the  storms, 
When  rudely  blowing, 

Shelter  me : 
'Mid  the  tempest, 

Pray  for  me. 

Soon  life's  journey 
Will  be  over, 

E'en  for  me; 
Then  to  Heaven, 

Welcome  me. 


Twilight   Musings.  249 

Where  the  souls 
Of  blesssed  infants 

Joy  to  be ; 
There  I'd  happy 

Dwell  with  thee. 


% tt  its  f  ok 

Let  us  love,  for  it  is  pleasant ; 

Let  us  love,  for  it  is  good ; 
'Tis  the  joy  that  fills  all  Heaven, 

'Tis  like  angels,  'tis  like  God. 

When  we  see  a  ragged  brother, 
When  we  see  a  crippled  one ; 

Let  us  love  to  clothe  the  naked, 
Give  our  ami  to  lean  upon. 

Jesus  loved  to  feed  the  hungry ; 

Jesus  healed  the  sick  and  blind : 
Would  we  be  like  him,  so  lovely? 

We  must  be  as  good  and  kind. 

When  we  see  the  poor  and  aged, 
Let  us  not  their  woes  despise ; 

But  with  kindest,  sweetest  accents, 
Let  us  wipe  their  weeping  eyes. 

When  we  see  the  wretched  drunkard, 
Reeling  senseless  to  his  home ; 

Should  we  join  in  wicked  laughter? 
Think  how  soon  he'll  reach  his  home. 


250  Twilight   Musings. 

Frowns  should  never  cloud  the  features 
Of  a  little  prattling  child, 

All  her  words  should  speak  of  kindness ; 
All  her  actions  should  be  mild. 

Let  us  love,  for  it  is  pleasant ; 

Let  us  love,  for  it  is  good ; 
'Tis  the  joy  that  fills  all  Heaven, 

'Tis  like  angels,  'tis  like  God. 


Infant  Ppm. 

Jesus,  high  in  glory  ! 

Lend  a  list'ning  ear 
When  we  bow  before  thee, 

Infant  praises  hear. 

Though  thou  art  so  holy, 
Heaven's  eternal  King ! 

Thou  wilt  stoop  to  listen, 
When  thy  praise  we  sing. 

When  thou  dwelt  among  us, 
Thou  didst  deign  to  bless 

Childhood's  joyous  hours : 
Infant  helplessness. 

We  are  little  children, 
Weak,  and  apt  to  stray: 


Twilight    Musings.  251 

Savior !  guide  and  keep  us, 
In  the  Heavenly  way. 

Save  us,  Lord,  from  sinning ; 

Watch  us  day  by  day; 
Help  us  now  to  love  thee ; 

Take  our  sins  away. 

Then,  when  Jesus  calls  us, 

To  our  heavenly  home, 
We  would  gladly  answer, 

Savior,  Lord  !  we  come. 


t  Storg  of  $tsus, 


Hear  the  wondrous  story 
Of  the  King  of  Glory, 

Who  in  boundless  love, 
Moved  with  soft  compassion 
Brought  to  us  salvation, 

From  the  world  above. 

In  the  realms  of  Heaven, 
Angel's  praise  was  given  ; 

Yet  His  loving  heart, 
Touched  with  tender  pity, 
Left  that  heavenly  city, 

And  with  all  did  part, 


252  Twilight    Musings. 

First  in  Bethlehem's  manger 
See  the  heavenly  stranger, 

"Willing  there  to  be ; 
Stripped  of  all  His  glory, 
Poor,  despised,  and  lowly, 

Thus  to  succor  me. 

By  the  Jews  rejected ; 
By  the  world  suspected, 

Weary,  weak  and  worn ; 
See  the  blessed  Savior, 
Thus  the  world  to  favor, 

Only  for  its  scorn. 

In  the  garden  praying, 
Judas  there  betraying, 

Thus  the  Savior  see  : 
By  His  friends  forsaken ; 
To  the  cross  then  taken, 

There  to  bleed  for  me. 

Shout  aloud,  Hosanna ! 
Raise  the  Gospel  banner ; 

Let  us  round  it  pres,s  : 
E'en  an  infant's  praises, 
Jesus  ne'er  despises ; 

He  our  souls  will  bless. 


Twilight    Musings.  253 


Court,  tomt  afoag. 

Come,  eome  away,  from  earthly  cares  reposing, 
Come,  let  us  meet  at  Jesus'  feet ; 

Oh  !  come,  come  away. 
There's  not  a  spot  on  earth  more  dear ; 
Oh  !  let  us  early  gather  here  ; 
Perhaps  our  Lord  may  now  draw  near; 

Oh  !  come,  come  away. 

Come,  come  away,  'tis  a  blessed  Sabbath  morning, 
Oh  !  let  us  praise  in  joyful  lays  ; 

Oh  !  come,  come  away. 
'Tis  here  we  learn  to  praise  the  Lord ; 
To  listen  to  His  holy  word; 
'Tis  here  we  meet  in  sweet  accord; 

Oh  !  come,  come  away. 

Come,  come  away,  this  sacred  hour  improving  ; 
Oh  !  let  us  all  on  Jesus  call ; 

Oh  !  come,  come  away. 
And  while  together  here  we  stay, 
We'll  drive  each  foolish  thought  away, 
For  we  have  met  to  hear  and  pray ; 

Oh  !  come,  come  away. 

Come,  come  away,  for  Jesus'  feast  is  waiting ; 
The  board  is  spread  with  heav'nly  bread; 

Oh  !  come,  come  away. 
The  Spirit  kindly  bids  us  come ; 
He  calls  us  to  our  heavenly  home; 
For  us,  for  you,  for  all,  there's  room ; 

Oh  !  come,  come  away. 
22 


254  Twilight    Musings. 


at  me. 

When  I  sleep,  and  when  I  wake, 
When  my  daily  walks  I  take, 


Though  my  eye  no  God  can  see 


Still  He  ever  looks  at  me. 


When  I  speak  a  wicked  word, 
By  my  Savior  it  is  heard ; 
Though  I  seek  from  God  to  flee, 
Still  from  Heaven  He  looks  at  me, 

When  I  break  His  holy  day, 
And  indulge  in  sinful  play, 
Could  I  still  so  thoughtless  be, 
If  I  felt,  He  looks  at  me  ? 

When  with  wicked  ones  I  play ; 
When  my  heart  forgets  to  pray, 
Though  I  may  forgetful  be, 
Still  my  Savior  looks  at  me. 

When  my  angry  passions  rise, 
God  can  hear  my  sinful  cries ; 
When  rebellious  I  would  be, 
Still  He  ever  looks  at  me. 

Every  disobedient  word, 
False  or  cross,  in  Heaven  is  heard ; 
Though  no  human  eye  can  see, 
God,  my  Savior,  looks  at  me. 


Twilight    Musings.  255 

In  each  action  that  I  do, 
God  can  see  me  through  and  through  : 
May  this  thought  a  comfort  be, 
Christ,  my  Savior,  cares  for  me. 


fjpm. 

My  Father,  my  Father,  Oh !  teach  me  to  pray, 

Oh  !  pity  an  infant,  and  teach  what  to  say; 

For  thou  art  so  holy,  and  I  am  so  weak ; 

Oh!  teach  me  to  fear,  when  thy  name  I  would  speak. 

Thou  clothest  the  lily,  thou  smil'st  in  the  flowers, 
Thy  goodness  is  felt  in  the  sun  and  the  showers ; 
Thy  love  is  so  high,  that  it  reaches  to  heaven, 
And  so  deep,  that  it  stoops  to  a  sinner  forgiven. 

Thy  love  whisper' d  words,  always  gentle  and  mild, 
It  open'd  its  arms  to  embrace  e'en  a  child ; 
For  when  the  disciples  said  there  was  no  room, 
Thy  love  kindly  bade  them,  in  welcome  to  come. 

Then  Father,  my  Father,  take  me  for  thy  child  j 
Oh  !  make  me  like  Jesus,  so  loving  and  mild ; 
Oh !  give  me  his  Spirit,  to  guide  me  safe  home, 
And  bring  me,  in  mercy,  where  sin  never  comes. 


250  Twilight    SIusinos. 


(Hoa>  is  fed. 

He  makes  the  sun  to  rise  and  set ; 

He  bids  the  rivers  flow ; 
His  word  can  raise  the  stormy  wind, 

And  bid  the  tempest  blow. 

'Tis  by  the  power  of  His  voice, 
He  bids  the  storm  to  cease ; 

Lulled  by  the  whisper  of  His  word  : 
He  speaks,  and  all  is  peace. 

Great  God,  I  tremble  at  thy  might, 

For  I'm  a  feeble  child, 
And  own  that  in  Thy  holy  sight, 

I  am  by  sin  defiled. 


"C|«b,  <$«&,  swat  me." 

Awake,  asleep,  by  night,  by  day, 
When  at  my  lesson,  or  my  play, 
Although  the  Lord  I  cannot  see, 
His  eye  is  always  fixed  on  me. 

God  never  will  forsake  His  own; 
He  will  not  leave  me  when  alone  : 
When  not  another  friend  is  near, 
May  I  remember,  God  is  here. 


Twilight    Musings.  257 

Oh  !  may  I  try  to  please  Him  still ; 
To  know  and  love,  and  do  His  will; 
Then  will  it  joy  and  gladness  be, 
That  God's  own  eye  is  fixed  on  me. 


oo* 


"%\m  is  it  6ob." 

When  I  look  around  me ; 

When  I  look  above, 
Every  thing  reminds  me, 

There's  a  God  of  love. 

When  the  sun  is  beaming ; 

When  the  evening  star 
Twinkles  in  the  heavens, 

Shining  from  afar, 

Then  I  often  wonder 
Who  has  made  them  all. 

God,  my  Heav'nly  Father, 
Hung  this  earthly  ball. 

Trees,  and  grass,  and  rivers, 
Murmuring  as  they  flow ; 

Plants  and  smallest  insects, 
God's  great  power  show. 

Birds,  so  sweetly  singing; 

Flowers,  that  fragrant  smell ; 
Everything  around  me, 

Of  God's  goodness  tells. 


258  Twilight  Musings. 

Then,  since  God  has  made  us, 
Are  we  not  His  own  ? 

Let  us  early  love  Him, 
And  serve  Him  alone. 


Infant  |lnitst 

How  beautiful  o'er  all  the  earth, 
The  works  of  God  appear ! 

The  glorious  sun,  the  twinkling  stars, 
The  moon,  so  soft  and  clear. 

I  love  to  hear  my  teacher  tell 
That  God  has  made  them  all ; 

And  that  His  everlasting  arms 
Uphold  this  earthly  ball. 

I  love  to  watch  the  budding  flowers, 
When  cheering  Spring  draws  near; 

And  merry  birds'  delightful  notes, 
How  much  I  love  to  hear. 

My  infant  heart  beats  high  with  joy, 

And  glad  I  trip  along 
The  grassy  earth,  with  joyful  steps, 

And  join  their  happy  song. 


Twilight    Musings.  259 


How  blest  and  happy,  Lord,  am  I, 
To  know  so  mucli  of  Thee  ! 

To  know  that  if  I  love  Thee  well, 
Thou  wilt  my  Father  be. 

To  know  that  if  I  seek  Thy  face, 
Jesus  my  cause  will  plead, 

And  thro'  this  world  of  sin  and  woe, 
My  trembling  feet  will  lead. 

"Will  hide  me  in  His  gracious  arms, 

And  in  His  bosom  bear 
The  timid  lambs,  and  keep  them  safe 

From  every  hurtful  snare. 

Then  lead  us,  Savior,  by  the  stream 
"Where  living  waters  flow, 

Until  we  reach  the  happy  land, 
Where  fruits  celestial  grow. 


"1  must  gtptnT 

By  sin  and  Satan  sorely  driven, 
How  shall  we  find  the  way  to  Heaven '( 
How  shall  we  have  our  sins  forgiven  ? 
Of  sin  we  must  repent. 


260  Twilight    Musings. 

We  must  be  sorry  for  our  sins, 
And  to  serve  God  we  must  begin ; 
And  if  we  would  be  pure  within, 
Of  sin  we  must  repent. 

We  must  repent  and  turn  away 

From  every  false  and  sinful  way : 

No  matter  what  the  wicked  say, 

Of  sin  we  must  repent. 

We  must  repent,  by  day,  by  night, 
Of  all  that  is  not  strictly  right 
In  God's  most  pure  and  holy  sight : 
Of  all  we  must  repent. 


from  Sin 


Sin  must  always  make  us  sad  : 
None  are  happy,  none  are  glad, 
Only  those  who  evil  flee ; 
Only  those  who  come  to  me. 

This  is  what  the  Savior  says 
Of  religion's  happy  ways  : 
Let  us  then  to  Jesus  go ; 
Let  us  follow  Him  below. 

Then  how  happy  we  shall  be, 
Members  of  His  family  : 
And  in  Heaven  at  last  shall  spend, 
Happy  days  that  never  end. 


Twiligiit    Musings.  201 


"6,  %«,  foil  me  fojjtrt." 

TUNE,    "BLUE   BELLS    OF   SCOTLAND." 

On,  where,  tell  ine  where  have  the  little  children  gone  ? 
Oh !  where,  tell  me  where  have  the  little  children  gone  ? 
They  once  were  sitting  here  with  ns, 
They  sang,  and  spoke,  and  smiled ; 
And  they  loved  to  meet  us  thus, 
But  they've  left  us  now,  my  child. 

Oh  !  where,  tell  me  where,  have  the  little  children  gone? 
Oh !  where,  tell  me  where,  have  the  little  children  gone  ? 
I  seem  to  see  their  sparkling  eyes, 

I  seem  to  hear  their  song ; 
But  we'll  never  see  them  more 
In  the  school  where  we  belong. 

Oh  !  where,  tell  me  where,  have  the  little  children  goce? 
Oh  !  where,  tell  me  where,  have  the  little  children  gone  ( 
They  never  will  be  sick  again, 
Their  tears  will  never  flow ; 
For  none  are  shed  in  Heaven, 
Where  the  lambs  of  Jesus  go. 

Oh  !  where,  tell  me  where,  have  the  little  children  gone  ? 
Oh  !  where,  tell  me  where,  have  the  little  children  gone  ? 
They  would  not  come  to  us  again, 
They  would  not  leave  the  sky ; 
For  they  have  found  in  Heaven, 
Joys  which  never  more  can  die. 


262  Twilight   Musings. 

Oli !  where,  tell  me  where,  have  the  little  children  gone  ? 
Oh  !  where,  tell  me  where,  have  the  little  children  gone  ? 
For  they  are  washed  in  Jesus'  blood, 

And  in  their  infant  hands, 
They  bear  a  harp  like  angels', 
As  they  join  the  Heavenly  band. 


in  Ibtrnt. 


Why  should  we  disagree,  disagree,  disagree  ? 

Children  of  one  family,  let  us  live  in  love; 
Oh  !  how  sweet  the  sight  would  be,  the  sight  would  be,  the 
sight  would  be, 

Here  to  dwell  in  harmony,  then  to  meet  above. 

When  our  angry  passions  rise,  passions  rise,  passions  rise, 
Filling  us  with  thoughts  unkind,  let  us  look  above ; 

To  the  Lamb  we'd  lift  our  eyes,  lift  our  eyes,  lift  our  eyes ; 
Think  how  meekly  Jesus  died,  thus  to  make  us  love. 

When  the  cruel  soldiers  smote,  did  He  strike  ?  did  He  strike  ? 

When  they  wove  the  crown  of  thorns,  oh,  how  still  He 
stood ) 
When  they  nailed  Him  to  the  tree,  to  the  tree,  to  the  tree, 

Still  He  bore  the  curse  for  me,  patient  Lamb  of  God. 

Jesus  says,  live  in  peace,  live  in  peace,  live  in  peace, 
Then  our  joys  shall  still  increase,  as  we  travel  home, 


Twilight    Musings.  263 

To  the  land  where  strife  shall  cease,  strife  shall  cease,  strife 
shall  cease; 
Where  the  sin  of  angry  words  never  more  shall  come. 

Hand  in  hand,  oh  !  let  us  go,  let  us  go,  let  us  go 
To  the  land  of  perfect  love,  where  the  angels  dwell ; 

Gladly  leaving  all  below,  all  below,  all  below, 

With  the  spirits  of  the  saved,  our  joyful  notes  to  swell. 


e  Cljilken,  tome  to  me. 


Little  children,  come  to  me, 
In  your  days  of  infancy. 
Come,  and  I  will  give  you  rest ; 
Come,  and  I  will  make  you  blest. 

These  are  kind  and  gracious  words, 
Spoken  by  our  blessed  Lord ; 
Oh  !  how  happy  should  I  be, 
Thus  to  hear  Him  speak  to  me. 

Little  children,  cease  from  sin, 
And  to  serve  the  Lord  begin  \ 
Then  a  happy  life  you'll  spend, 
With  the  Savior  for  your  friend. 


